


Tip of the Tongue

by NaomiJameston



Series: Always Together [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Australia, Cancer, Chef Snape, Developing Relationship, Discord: Hearts & Cauldrons SSHG Server, Eventual Friendship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, HEA but bittersweet, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Potential death, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, Soft Severus Snape, Struggling Hermione Granger, Tags Are Hard, but they're ok, leading to a real relationship, past accidental poisoning, prequel to Sunday Afternoons and Fascination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiJameston/pseuds/NaomiJameston
Summary: When frustrations in England lead Hermione to attempt to restore her parents' memories, despite past failures, she finds that she has unexpected allies and new perspectives to explore.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, past Hermione/Ron
Series: Always Together [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717558
Comments: 44
Kudos: 70
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel to my other stories "Sunday Afternoons" and "Fascination." It's not necessary to read them first, but if you'd like a peek into the future of this Hermione and Severus, feel free! 
> 
> Many thanks to all of my incredible alphas, handholders, and cheerleaders at the Hearts&Cauldrons discord! And especially hearty thanks to my beta LunaP999. I'm sorry I didn't take your suggestion and title this Snape in Oz. 
> 
> As always, any mistakes are mine and anything you recognize is not.

Hermione breathed deeply as she entered the little restaurant, feeling the black cloud around her retreat when faced with the smell of fresh bread. La Petite Maison was a tiny slice of France, seemingly transplanted from its country of origin to take root on the Australian coast, and it was Hermione’s favourite place in the world.

It had been months since she’d last had the time to visit. Too long, she mused. Much too long back in stuffy, old England. She desperately wanted to surround herself with warmth, with light. With comfort. Some filling food, some wine, a bit of a harmless flirt with the owner- yes, that was just what she needed. And the owner, being as French as his restaurant, was always happy to indulge her.

“Hey there, Hermione!” a waitress called out. She was the owner’s daughter, all long legs and thick blonde hair contrasting against her Australian tan. She set a steaming plate down in front of another customer before turning to grab a menu for Hermione. “It’s been ages! How’s England?”

“Cold,” Hermione laughed as she settled into a sturdy chair. She waved away the menu. “I’ll have my usual, Minette, with a glass of the house red.”

The girl chewed her lip and offered the menu again. “We have a new chef; he’s changed the whole menu. You might want to take a look.”

Hermione paused in the act of removing her jacket. “What happened to your dad? Is he all right?”

“He’s totally fine. Maman got sick a while ago, but she’s fine now, too!” Minette waved Hermione down as she’d started to rise again in concern. “I promise they’re both fine. But Papa needed some time off to take care of her, so when our new chef showed up, it was like a miracle. And honestly, he is, Hermione. His food is… well, I hesitate to say ‘divine’ but that’s what it is.”

Hermione lifted an eyebrow and regarded the menu suspiciously. “I dislike changes and I’ll be honest, Minette, I’m not in a great mood today. So, how about you tell Chef to make me something divine and guaranteed to lift my mood. With a glass of the house red.”

Minette laughed nervously. “I’ll ask him, but he’s… well. He’s a bit of a…”

“A jerk?” Minette nodded with a grimace and Hermione laughed. “Well of course he is, Minette. Aren’t all French chefs?”

“I don’t think he’s French, actually. He’s got a British accent. And besides,” she drew herself up proudly, “mon père n'est pas une secousse.”

“Your father is a hero among men, and I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” Hermione tapped the menu. “Why don’t you pick for me? Is there something your new chef makes that’s absolutely incredible?”

Minette considered before tucking the menu under her arm with a firm nod. “The veal, then. I don’t know what he does to it, but it’s wonderful. Don’t say anything to Papa, but it’s better than his.”

Hermione allowed her eyes to go wide. “Good heavens, that’s quite a compliment. I’ve had your dad’s veal.”

Minette laughed and sauntered away to greet the next customers. Hermione settled back in her chair with a happy sigh. She'd missed Minette’s bubbly personality. They were nearly the same age but Hermione had none of the joy that Minette exuded. It wasn’t just the War, though that had been part of it. It was everything that had happened after the War that was so draining.

It was so hard being who and what she was. She winced at her own thoughts and chastised herself for being too focused on petty problems. But, if she was being honest, it was hard. Things were always so busy back in England. People always needed her for one thing or another. She was making progress in her career, but slowly. Her ideas were being dismissed still, but less often. She’d been given heaps of praise when her latest proposal for the rights of centaurs had made it to the discussion floor for the first time. Well, she grimaced, it wasn’t praise exactly, but her superior had nodded and looked less angry than usual. And as she’d explained to Harry, that was nearly the same as being declared Minister.

Harry was doing well in his own career and was on his way to becoming Head Auror, but when he’d told Hermione about his latest promotion, the triumph had seemed false. He felt he didn’t deserve it. The Boy Who Lived Twice insisted on taking years longer than necessary in order to ensure his promotions were due to merit rather than his name. Hermione understood that, of course, having passed up several opportunities for the very same reason. She’d even refused to teach at Hogwarts the year after she graduated. Certainly she would have been a capable instructor but how could she teach students life skills if she hadn’t experienced any life herself?

But Ronald. He hadn’t understood. He’d ranted at both of them. He’d said-

Hermione roused herself enough to give a facsimile of a smile to the waiter who poured her wine. Not the house red, she mused as she sipped. Something deep and darker. Smoky? Either way, she didn’t care for it. Like she didn’t care for Ron right now.

She rubbed her left ring finger, so recently denuded. She felt naked without her engagement ring, but also lighter somehow. Free. And surprisingly guiltless about it.

She’d once thought they’d be forever- that relationships were only meant to be broken through infidelity. But theirs was so broken, so fundamentally flawed that she couldn’t continue it. Words had been said that couldn’t be taken back. Long-buried jealousies and anger had flared. Insecurities tugged. She’d said many things she regretted in their final argument; she’d picked at old wounds until they bled.

She’d compared Harry’s integrity in not accepting promotions for his name and Ron’s accepting a first string placement on his beloved Chudley Cannons team despite lacking ability. He hadn’t taken that well at all.

And then he’d scoffed at her. He’d sneered at her wanting to prove her worth. He’d leaned back in his chair, settled his feet on the table, and said, “Well, it doesn’t matter what you want. Once we’re married, everyone expects you to be my housewife anyway.”

She’d been so shocked, so deeply horrified at the dull life that she could see stretched before her that she’d taken the ring off then and there. She’d packed a small bag and by the time she’d returned to the main room of their flat, both Ron and the ring had disappeared.

She snorted softly. Good riddance. She was better off without him anyway. He was a distraction at best. She needed to focus right now. She was in Australia again for a reason, after all. Her parents-

“Here we are,” Minette said as she suddenly appeared at Hermione’s elbow with a steaming plate. Hermione startled out of her reverie, nearly spilling the acidic wine. She inhaled deeply as Minette set the plate down.

“Goodness, Minette, this smells wonderful!” she exclaimed. Though she’d been more lonely than hungry coming into the restaurant, now she was ravenous and her stomach growled loudly.

Minette giggled. “I told Chef to make it even more spectacular than usual since you’re an out-of-town regular and I have to say he outdid himself. He commanded me to watch you take the first bite, and said if you don’t like it, you’re welcome to take a long walk off a short pier.”

“As Chef commands, then,” she laughed. With great ceremony, she cut a sliver of the breaded veal cutlet, dabbed it in the wine sauce, and slid it onto her tongue. As her mouth closed around it, she couldn’t help the guttural moan that escaped her. Flavors bloomed, faded, and bloomed again. Acid, sweet, tang, spice, warmth. All wrapped together in the slight gamey flavor of the tender meat. She sipped the wine she didn’t care for and found that it too had been transformed. Though it still had a bite, it was smoother on her tongue and brought depth to the veal. Stars swam behind her eyes as she chewed, leaving her breathless. She set her fork down as gently as she could to address Minette, who watched her with a cat’s grin.

“You may tell Chef that I have had less satisfying orgasms,” Hermione said in awe. She lifted her wine glass to toast in the general direction of the kitchen. “And let him know that while I disapprove of changing my wine order, he may have been correct in this one instance.”

Minette chuckled. “Would you like to meet him? The dinner rush is almost over and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear your praise in person.”

“Not too soon, if you don’t mind. I need some time alone with my meal,” Hermione laughed. Minette snickered and returned to the kitchen. A few moments passed before Hermione heard a bark of laughter from around the corner where Minette had disappeared. She poked her head out to flash a grin and a thumbs up at Hermione. Hermione shook her head and chuckled before pulling an oversize notebook and a pen out of her tote bag.

She nibbled and sipped absently as she flipped through her notes. Her parents showed no sign of improvement, despite the various treatments she’d tried. Nothing in her research had presented an explanation; indeed, it seemed as though Obliviate had never been so thoroughly cast before. Most Obliviates faded eventually, even without treatment, but most Obliviates didn’t remove a child from her parents’ memories. Most children wouldn’t have even considered doing such a thing. Most children would have talked to their parents about the danger they faced. Most-

“I knew my food was good, but it’s never moved a woman to tears before,” a voice spoke above her. A handkerchief drifted into her view, held aloft by long elegant fingers. Hermione took the fabric with an embarrassed sniff and wiped her eyes.

“Oh no, your food was wonderful, I assure you. It was just...” She looked up to address the chef-

And looked right into the deep, dark eyes of Severus Snape.


	2. Chapter 2

Her tears forgotten, Hermione reared back in her seat.

“You!” she hissed.

For his part, Snape seemed just as startled as she. His eyes were wide in his angular face, his skin several shades darker than she’d last seen. Of course, the last time she’d seen him, he’d been mostly-dead and bleeding out.

He looked remarkably recovered from his brush with death; he’d grown his hair out and was wearing it pulled back at the nape of his neck to fall somewhere past his shoulders. He was still a tall man but less painfully lanky. He’d filled out in a way that Hermione found surprisingly pleasing. His features had softened, but his nose was still hooked, his eyes were still sharp, and his glare still froze her to the chair. He crossed his arms and though he wore a simple shirt and apron, he was just as intimidating as he had been in his teacher’s robes.

“Miss Granger,” he hissed. “What in God’s name are you doing in Australia?”

“I should ask you the same, Professor,” she replied with a growl. “When did you-”

“I don’t answer to you.” Tiny sparks of electricity flashed between them as their magic rose by their ire.

Minette laughed from somewhere behind them, entertaining a customer with a story Hermione had heard multiple times before. Snape drew in a quick breath before his posture changed. He uncrossed his arms and swung fully around Hermione to lean a hip against her table. With gentle fingers, he lifted the discarded handkerchief.

“I’m delighted you enjoyed your meal so much, miss. Minette told me you’d said some rather… descriptive words about it. Could I convince you to repeat them to me?” His voice was timbered lower than she’d ever heard, and it coiled around her core with a caress. Snape’s lips curled at the corners with clear amorous intent and though she was thoroughly confused, Hermione found herself leaning closer.

“What are you-” But Snape placed his fingers against her mouth.

He leaned in as though he was wiping tears from Hermione’s face. When he spoke into her ear, his breath stirring the fine hair on her neck, his voice was the same hiss she remembered from years at Hogwarts. “We’ll talk later, you daft girl. Come back around midnight.”

Without waiting for an answer, he picked up her dish and empty wine glass and swept away to the kitchen. Though his pace was quick, he traded nods and acknowledgements with several patrons as he passed, and even blew a kiss at two women in a far booth by the kitchen. Hermione watched him leave with confusion- over his appearance, his posturing, and her attention to his nipped in waist.

“What in the hell just happened?”

~~~

Hermione sat in her car watching the tiny bistro. Minette was loitering by the front door, chatting animatedly. She gestured widely, her smile bright and her blonde curls bouncing, before she slid through the open door with a laugh. Snape followed her, making shooing motions with his hands. Though his countenance was severe, he seemed amused at the girl’s antics. She turned to address him again, but he pointed towards her car imperiously. She laughed and waved before walking away with a bounce in her step that Hermione envied.

A few moments passed before Minette’s car pulled away with a cheerful toot of the horn. Snape waved as she passed, then turned to raise an eyebrow at Hermione’s car. She slid out, surprised at how guilty she felt. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, but it felt dangerous to be meeting a tall, dark, mysterious man by herself late at night.

He held the door open for her and she noticed his spicy scent as she swept by. Something familiar but she couldn’t quite place it. She shook herself out of her woolgathering as he closed and locked the door behind her.

“You start on the dishes,” he snapped as they entered the kitchen. Hermione shook herself from her reverie and turned to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought we were going to talk?”

He sneered. “Are you incapable of multitasking? There are plenty of dishes for both of us and I’d like to be free of you sooner than later.”

Hermione felt her hackles rising but she swallowed down the anger with the ease of long practice. Sliding her beaded bag to the floor, she pushed her sleeves up.

“Fine. If the price for answers is cheap labor, so be it.” Snape nodded, pointing to the far side of the kitchen where a pile of dishes taller than Hermione stood. She boggled and said with some incredulity, “Don’t you have someone to wash these?”

“Minette’s boyfriend, but he’s shite at it. Always buggers off for smokes in the back.” Snape snickered before turning back to the large stove.

While Hermione debated how best to tackle the mess- “Seriously, Snape, is there even a sink under here?”- he measured sugar and water into a large pot. He set it over the heat and tossed in some cinnamon sticks. He chuckled quietly to himself as Hermione struggled to scrub a particularly stuck bit on some plates before sliding them into the rinsing sink.

They settled into a rhythm: she scrubbed with vehemence while he stirred his pots and chopped pecans. Cinnamon scented the air between them and the syrup bubbled merrily. He peeled and cored pears, tended his bubbling pots, and fell into his work with a soft expression. After a few minutes of silence, he began to hum.

“I’ve never heard you do that,” Hermione said. Snape startled, slicing himself with the small knife in his hands and letting loose a yelp. Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Nor that.”

“It’s been years since I needed to watch my back every moment, Granger. I’ve finally learned how to let myself relax,” he snarled. He held a cloth to his bleeding hand then surveyed the wound with a quiet, “Damn.”

“I’m sorry. May I?” Hermione asked, holding her hand out. Snape eyed her suspiciously but let her take his hand. The cut wasn’t deep enough that he was worried about permanent damage but it was bleeding with surprising force.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath to settle herself. Her magic surged along her skin, raising the fine hairs on her arms in goosebumps. Orange flashed in little sparks around her and behind her eyes as she closed her hand on his injured one. He hissed at the quick burn and their entwined hands glowed orange for a moment. Hermione released him with a harsh exhalation and she leaned back against the counter in what she hoped was a casual stance. The room was spinning but she was too elated to notice.

Snape flexed carefully but there was no indication of the injury. His hand was healed. He nodded and returned his attention to a double boiler melting chocolate. “I wouldn’t have guessed you for a Healer, but you’ve done an adequate job.”

“Oh, I’m not a Healer,” Hermione said as she stood. The room was solid around her again, and she dug into the pile of dishes with renewed interest. “I thought about becoming one, but it didn’t work out.”

“Why?” he asked as he stirred competently. “You’ve a decent grasp of it, though you should curb the theatrics. You’d exhaust yourself less.”

Hermione snorted. “Believe me, this is nothing compared to how bad I was when I first started. It was right out of a children’s novel- gusts of wind, papers flying, the whole kit and caboodle.”

“You’re learning self-discipline, then,” he observed with a nod. He carefully lowered the pears into the bubbling syrup. “I’m surprised you’ve waited this long to ask me-”

“Yes, well, you were clearly busy and I didn’t- That is-” She tossed down the pan she was scrubbing. “What the fuck are you doing in Australia, Snape? And why were you flirting with me?”

He smirked. “Call me Severus.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “Why?”

“You healed me; you might as well call me by my name.” He shrugged and turned off the heat below the pears. “As for your questions, French chefs are expected to be outrageously flirtatious with their customers. And I’m in Australia because no one in the European continent felt like hiring a former Death Eater.”

“But you were exonerated. You received an Order of Merlin, for heaven’s sake,” Hermione pointed out. Severus shrugged again.

“And had the audacity to remain an ungrateful prick, or so I heard. I was apparently supposed to thank my lucky stars the Wizengamot pardoned me and become a golden child of the public. To let them into my life. To let them see why I became the arsehole that I am and allow myself to be remade into something redeemable.” He snorted. “But I didn’t. And why should I? I’m never going to be the hero they want, so why bother trying?”

“Because it would prove to the public that you’re a person worth admiring?” Severus raised a skeptical eyebrow and gave Hermione a wry grin. She couldn’t help returning it. “All right, ‘admire’ might be too strong a word. But Harry, Ron, and I know you’re a good person-”

“Please, spare me.” Severus rolled his eyes. “If I’d had any thought toward my surviving that damned snake’s attack, I never would have given Potter those memories. And I’ll thank you not to speak of them again.”

“Noted,” Hermione quipped. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t heard your name in the last few years, either in reverence or revulsion.”

He sniffed derisively. “Comforting, I’m sure. And what about you? Did the adoring public chase you all the way to the ends of the Commonwealth?”

“My parents are here,” she said.

Severus nodded. “Ah. I suppose it is a decent thing to visit one’s parents.”

“I guess,” Hermione shrugged. “It would help if they remembered me at all.”

Severus twisted his head to look at the young woman washing the same pot, long since clean, and hiding behind her hair, his face awash with emotion that she couldn’t see. He breathed carefully, as though concerned that even that small sound would startle her, and very slowly turned the heat off under the chocolate sauce he’d finished. He laid a hand on her arm gently to still her harsh scrubbing.

“What do you mean?” he asked quietly. Hermione sniffed but didn’t lift her head.

“I... I cast an Obliviate on them years ago. Before I left with Harry and Ron to find the Horcruxes. I knew Vol- I mean, You-Know-”

“He’s dead, Hermione. Say his name.”

She nodded absently. “Voldemort. He’d been sending Death Eaters after Muggleborn families and I knew he’d come after mine eventually. I couldn’t risk my parents, Severus, but I couldn’t leave the Wizarding world, either. I had to help Harry, so I had to hide them.”

“It didn’t occur to you to ask the Order for help?”

Hermione looked up at him and even though her eyes glittered with tears, her bittersweet amusement shone right through. “The same Order that kept cutting us out at every turn? Because we weren’t 'old enough to understand'? Because they didn’t want us to know that Harry was being raised for martyrdom? Oh yes, I definitely thought about asking them for help.”

He nodded slowly and backed up to lean on the counter. “You’re not wrong. So what happened with your parents?”

“I don’t know what I did wrong, but I can’t get the Obliviate to lift. Nothing I cast has any effect on it. Potions don’t, either. I tried slipping them a few but I think one made my dad a little ill. He’s fine now, of course, but I backed off for a while to research more.” She dropped a plate into the rinsing sink with a splash.

Severus stared down at her. “I’m sorry. Did you just admit to poisoning unsuspecting Muggles?”

Hermione whirled to face him, splashing them both with soapy water. “I didn’t poison anyone! He’s fine!”

“That can get you thrown into Azkaban, you know.”

She snorted. “Please. I’m one of the Golden Trio. They wouldn’t dare.”

“Hmm. You know what the public loves more than a hero, Hermione? Watching her fall.”

She scrubbed another plate with such vehemence that he wondered briefly if it would break before she answered. “Anyway, so I came back again to see if there has been any progress. A Healer friend of mine- the one who taught me how to heal your hand- said that time would probably work better than anything, but nothing’s happening yet.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Nothing concrete. I’m heading to Sydney tomorrow to do some research at the Wizarding library there. I’ve got an appointment with a Healer in a few days, but that’s it. I’m only here for a few weeks, so I’m hoping to have a breakthrough before I have to leave.”

“Where are you staying?” Severus asked as he scooped the pears onto a platter. He drizzled them with the syrup, the chocolate sauce, and the chopped pecans before adding a sprig of mint he twisted off the plant above the sink with practiced fingers. He slid the platter toward Hermione and waved her to a table nearby.

She set the platter on the table and stared at it. “When did you learn to cook? This is incredible.”

He scoffed, nudging her out of the way with a hip to set down two plates, two wine glasses, and utensils. “Honestly, Hermione. I’m a Potions Master. Any of us worth our salt should be able to make Poire belle Hélène. It’s a simple enough dish.”

“And that’s another thing,” she said as she settled a napkin in her lap. “Why are you in a French restaurant in Australia?!”

“I’ve answered the latter half of that question already, but I see that your comprehension hasn’t matured since Hogwarts.” He chuckled at her furious expression as he poured the wine. “As for the former, I enjoy French cuisine and I’ve enjoyed spending time learning it. I may not be a classically trained, Paris-raised chef de cuisine, but none of my customers have complained. The owner is a different story, but I feel we see eye to eye now.”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “What did you do to Christophe?”

He scooped a pear to settle it on his plate. “I certainly haven’t poisoned him.”

Her nostrils flared and orange sparks drifted in her hair. “Low blow, Snape.”

“Calm yourself, Granger. I’m not questioning your motives but rather your method. I understand needing to wait to see if time heals all wounds, but why are you keeping yourself distant from them if you’re determined to bring your parents back?”

She cut a slice from her pear and slid it through the sauce. “I don’t know. I guess I feel guilty? I mean, I  _ should  _ feel guilty. It’s because of me that they’re halfway around the world.”

“Are they happy?”

She chuckled and for the first time, her smile reached her eyes. Something in Severus’ chest relaxed minutely. “Yeah, I think so. I overheard Dad talking about expanding their business last time I was here, maybe franchising.”

“I didn’t realize dentists could franchise.” Severus smiled at Hermione’s small laugh. “At the risk of sounding old enough to be your father, eat your pear. The sugar will help lift a bad mood, or so I’ve heard.”

She smiled wryly but indulged him by finally eating the piece she’d been playing with. Severus watched her with satisfaction as she moaned around the pear.

“Sweet Circe, but I’d drag you back to England if I thought you’d cook for me every day,” she moaned.

“Ah yes, something about having less satisfying orgasms than my cooking?” He toasted her as she flushed red. “I can’t decide if that’s a compliment to me or an insult to your Mister Weasley.”

She growled. “Do not mention that prick to me while I’m having a moment, if you please.”

Severus felt his eyebrows raise of their own volition and he almost choked on his wine. “I’m afraid to ask, but I feel compelled to.”

Hermione stabbed her pear with such force that it broke to pieces but she didn’t notice. “He and I apparently have different opinions on integrity and not using fame to one’s advantage. And we have very differing thoughts on what my career will be when we’re married.”

“You’re engaged?” Severus asked with a pointed glance at her empty finger. Hermione covered it with her other hand.

“No,” she grimaced. “No, not anymore. Not since… He implied that what I do doesn’t matter. Not to anyone, but especially not to him. All my hard work to advance on my own won’t mean anything.”

Severus quietly slid his handkerchief across the table and waited for Hermione to dab her eyes. “He doesn’t feel the same about integrity, I suspect?”

She snorted. “He likes integrity when it works to his favor but he’s willing to leave it behind when there’s an easier way. Being the best friend of the Boy Who Lived Twice certainly has its merits. He’s playing for the Cannons now.”

Severus blinked. “Yes?”

“You’ve seen him play, Severus.” She snorted and stabbed another piece of pear. “I don’t know the game well and even I can tell he’s the worst player on the field.”

Severus considered. “Not to defend him- I’m not- but is it possible that he’s enjoying no longer being the least Weasley? If I remember correctly, he’s the youngest of the men, yes?”

“Well yes, but that doesn’t mean he should flaunt his shortcomings publicly. And now people will know that he’s been chosen for his name rather than talent.”

“Much like many other players. Had Potter or my godson decided to play professionally, I don’t doubt they’d both be starters.”

She snorted. “Harry wouldn’t have let them, but Malfoy probably would have. He likes attention.”

Severus’ lips quirked. “Everyone likes attention, Hermione.”

“Not me.”

“Even you,” he stressed. “The brightest witch of her age? How many times were you praised for your brains?”

“You never did,” she pointed out with a jab of her fork.

“And didn’t that just rile you?” He grinned and held up his hands to halt her protest. “I’m not saying you were unworthy of praise, but you never thought for yourself. You still don’t. What have you gained by your reluctance to accept your due? Do people applaud you for it?”

“I- well…”

“Do people ever say, ‘Oh, that Granger girl. So humble. Saved the world and still won’t take a raise?’ Or do they mock you? Do they even notice you in the shadow of the great Harry Potter?”

She set her fork down slowly. Severus waited, counting her breaths. Three, four, five-

“That was a very hurtful thing to say,” she finally said, her voice tightly controlled.

He shrugged. “Yes. You needed to hear it. You’re still not thinking with your brain; you’re thinking only of your reputation. Your thoughts are public opinion.”

“What would you have me do, then, Snape? Throw it all away to work in a tiny little bistro at the end of the world? I’m not that cowardly.”

This time he counted his own breaths, but only needed to count to three before he lifted his glass in a mocking toast. “Touché.”

She sighed and seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry. That was out of turn.”

“Tit for tat, Miss Granger. Is your mood improved?” He sipped from his wine glass with a sly grin.

Hermione began to speak but instead chuckled and returned his toast. “It is, yes. You figured that your food wasn’t doing the job well enough so you had to insult me?”

He shrugged. “You wouldn’t respect praise if it came from me. You don’t  _ want _ praise from me. You want someone to see you.”

“And do you see me, Severus?” Her lips curled against her glass. Severus carefully sipped his own wine, locking her gaze with his until she squirmed.

“I see a young woman who desperately wants to be taken seriously but isn’t sure what that means. I see someone who is so different from what people expect that she feels the need to hide herself away. I see someone who is finally realizing these things about herself and who is trying to find her own way.” He set the glass down and slid his hand across the table to touch hers. “Yes, Hermione. I see you.”

Hermione gulped and slowly slid her hand out from under his. “Maybe I’m not as brave as you think.”

He smiled at her and slid his hand back to pick up his fork smoothly. “You will be, but maybe you aren’t ready yet. I had to be bitten by a giant snake, come back from death, recover with Potter knowing that I loved his mother, and put up with public adoration for months before I was finally brave enough to flip our world two fingers. But then,” he mused, “Slytherins are known for their ambition rather than bravery. I waited until there was nothing left to be gained by staying.”

“And now you run a restaurant on the other side of the world. That’s certainly ambitious.” She enjoyed another bite of pear with unrestrained delight. “Speaking of franchising, please open one of these back in England. I’ll eat there every day.”

He threw his head back and laughed, and Hermione took the time to enjoy the sound. She’d never heard him laugh in England, and her heart twisted to realize that he’d likely never had a reason to. He’d had a hard life and a harder death, and with the pressure on all sides even after the war was over, he likely wouldn’t have spent any time joking.

She decided she liked the sound. And she liked what happiness looked like on him. And she liked the curve of his neck when he threw it back. Her lips itched to touch the hollow of his throat. Her tongue would sweep along it and he’d-

“Much as I appreciate the scrutiny, Hermione, perhaps you could project your thoughts in another direction? They’re rather… distracting and you’re not ready for where they lead.” He smirked as Hermione jerked back to herself and flushed redder than her wine, which she gulped.

“Right, so… er, yes. My parents!” Severus raised an elegant eyebrow.

“A different direction indeed. But yes, your parents. So you’ve had no luck with the Obliviate?”

“None,” she said and slid a bit of pear around her plate. Severus watched her quietly.

“What have you tried?”

“Besides poisoning my dad, you mean?” she asked with a guilty twist of her lips. Ducking down, she snatched her bag from the floor where she’d dropped it and slid several notebooks out. Severus fought back a grin to see them stuffed full of scribbled notes, annotated copies of pages he suspected she’d nicked from the Hogwarts library, diagrams of the brain, and other bits and bobs. He failed to hide the grin as he noted the color coded filing system with tags along the side. He motioned for permission, which she gave with a terse nod, and he slid the first notebook toward himself.

Tucked into the inner cover was a Muggle picture of Hermione and her parents. They were standing in front of a quaint home dwarfed by its garden full of flowering bushes as large as Hermione’s hair. The only thing brighter and more exuberant than the garden was the matching grins on Hermione’s and her parents’ faces.

“That was after fifth year. We’d just gotten my OWL results,” she said sadly. Severus nodded and flicked a glance at her.

“All Outstanding, if I recall correctly?”

She smirked and settled back with her wine. “Naturally.”

He turned to the next page, which was covered in a lined sheet demarked “attempt #”, “method of removal”, and “effect.” The numbers were sequential and filled out through 25, though only eight had been used. The first five methods were “spell,” three of them “counter” and two “reverse.” The following three lines were simply labeled “potion” without explanation. But all eight lines ended with the same final column labeled “Results.” All had the same entry: “Naught.”

He flicked through several pages, which outlined the potions already tried. Dittany featured heavily, which didn’t surprise him. It was the most powerful healing herb known to the Wizarding world.

The next notebook was stuffed full of notes on Obliviate, but these pages were all on casting, not removing. Hermione’s neat handwriting slashed across them with questions about ways to remove the curse by casting it in the opposite direction. There were two pages detailing ways to remove the Obliviate, but they’d been crossed out with the word “rubbish” and reams of notes along the side. A tiny paper poked out from the end of the notes and when Severus touched it, it unfolded into a separate file full of notes on potential further experiments. Though they were numerous, they were all slashed across with red ink.

The last notebook was full of scrolls and letters from healers around the world, all sealed in envelopes with the word “unhelpful” stamped across them. There were dozens of the envelopes and more than a few of the letters within them showed burn marks. The last was nearly burned through but what remained was dotted with tear stains.

Severus let the last notebook fall open before him, resting on the page with the letters.

“Well,” he said, “I think your filing could use a little work.”

Hermione choked on her wine, coughing out a laugh. “Yes, well. I was in a rush.”

He nodded. “Not to question your methods, but there are very few attempts given the amount of time they’ve been under the spell.”

She sighed. “Yes. There’s surprisingly little information about the spell beyond casting it and the counter-curse. I didn’t dare attempt much more than the counter and a few basic potions.”

“And do you have any further ideas?”

She shook her head.

“Leads?”

She grimaced.

“...A general direction?”

“More wine?” she asked, carefully not looking at him.

He sat back in his seat. “Why are you in Australia?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I don’t know what I’m hoping to find here. My parents are gone. My ex-fiance is an arsehole. Harry’s got his own worries and besides, he’s Ron’s best friend. I tried talking to Minerva about this, but she was as clueless as I am. The Healers all laughed at my attempts. I’m lost.”

Severus nodded slowly, flipping through the pages covered in familiar script.

“Well,” he finally said. “Between our brilliant brains, I’m sure we can find some sort of solution. And maybe we’ll be remembered for something other than our wartime contributions.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “You mean it? You’re willing to help me?”

“I am,” he replied. He jerked his chin at the notebooks. “Would you let me borrow them for the night? I’d like to understand what exactly you’ve done, and where we might go from here.”

“We,” Hermione mused. She lowered her head to hide under her hair for a moment, then flung it back with a triumphant grin. “I like that. I haven’t been part of a “we” in a while.”

Severus glanced at her left ring finger, still carrying a divot from the removed engagement ring. Though he didn’t say anything, Hermione could almost hear the choice words he was likely thinking about her former fiancé. She chuckled under her breath before standing to gather their dishes and set them on the pile she hadn’t washed yet.

“Sorry,” she winced. “I’ll finish those then get out of your hair.”

Severus chuckled and flicked a finger at the mess. Dishes flung themselves through the suddenly running water, sudsing and rinsing on their own. They dipped into the sanitizing rinse, shook the water off, and settled into various cabinets, hooks, and drawers throughout the kitchen. The whole process took less than 10 seconds.

Hermione’s jaw, which had dropped at the spectacle, closed and clenched as she turned to look at Severus.

“You could have done that at any time,” she growled. Severus watched her levelly, crossing his arms.

“Yes. I generally do so not long after Minette leaves, but I was distracted tonight. Besides, you were willing to help.”

“And you’re not above a little petty revenge?” Hermione asked, failing to keep the rising amusement from her tone. Severus mock-glared before he relaxed his posture with a laugh.

“Not when the opportunity presents itself, no. And I’ll point out that I didn’t tell you not to use magic, Hermione.” He snickered.

“Well, I thought… since it’s a Muggle restaurant, there’d be cameras?”

Severus nodded toward a corner of the room where a camera looked down. Its red light flickered wildly. “There are, but they all have this weird glitch that they never work past midnight.”

She smiled. “Odd that. But is it really that late? I’m afraid I should get back to my hotel.”

He nodded. “Let me walk you to your car? It’s a safe enough neighbourhood, but one never knows who could be lurking. I was robbed not far from here when I first arrived.”

Her eyes widened. “Truly? I thought Bunbury was among the safest in the country?”

“It is, but I’d feel better walking you out anyway.” He helped her into her coat, sliding it on for her with elegant, sure fingers. He stood close enough that Hermione caught his scent again- something deep, alluring. Like a dream or a memory. It wasn’t the harsh smell of the antiseptic he’d used at Hogwarts, nor any plant she recognized, but somehow she knew it. She breathed deep as subtly as she could while he shrugged into his own short jacket. It hugged his frame closely, highlighting the broad width of his shoulders and the surprising amount of muscle in his arms. Severus noticed her looking and gave her a quick grin.

“I never would have guessed you for denim,” she observed. Severus shrugged without embarrassment.

“The previous dishwasher left it and Christophe gave it to me when I showed up with literally only the clothes on my back.”

“The robbers took that much?” Hermione asked with a gasp. Severus chuckled.

“No, I’d sold that much, even my cloak.”

She groaned. “Not that magnificent cloak! Oh, but I loved watching you in that. You were-” she cut off with an embarrassed gasp.

“No, no, do continue, Hermione,” Severus said with a grin. He leaned against the door in front of her, holding his hand over the lock.

“Oh shut up,” she groused and tugged playfully at his hand. “I’m not sure about Australian laws, but in England, I’m pretty sure this is kidnapping.”

Severus caught her hand against his over the lock and growled directly in her ear. “You are absolutely not a kid.”

Hermione forgot how to breathe. The world forgot how to spin. The sun on the other side of the planet forgot how to rise.

Until Severus flicked the lock open and the door swung open under Hermione’s weight. She began to fall, still trying to catch her breath, but he caught her deftly. Her face burned, but Severus didn’t say a word as he steadied her. She passed through the door and tried not to think about how nice his arms had felt.

She waited while he locked the door behind him. They walked side by side, their paces matching. Hermione took a deep breath of the cool ocean breeze that carried the scent of salt with it.

“The only thing that would make this better,” she said suddenly, “would be your cloak.”

“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her. Without thinking about it, Hermione slid her arm around his back and settled her head into the crook of his shoulder. She breathed deep of the cool night air and Severus’ scent, and felt his chest fill as he did the same. They didn’t speak as they walked to her car but Hermione felt weight lift from her shoulders with each breath. The night air, the man next to her, being away from England all brought a contentment she hadn’t realized she was missing.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Severus asked, his deep voice rumbling into her chest. She snorted and shook her head.

“Save your money; they aren’t worth that much.”

“Indulge me?”

She sighed. “Do you think there’s a chance my parents will recover? After so many years with no improvement? Have I… Have I killed them?”

Severus pulled her to a stop and held her by the arms so she looked up at him.

“Hermione, you are an extremely powerful witch and you cast an incredibly powerful spell that’s held firm. But you’re not all powerful and even your magic can be defeated. We’ll find a solution for your parents.” He cupped her cheek with his hand and Hermione stared up at him, her heart racing and her breath coming in short bursts. “I promise.”

“But… how can you be so sure?” she asked.

Severus smiled down at her. “I don’t doubt that you can do anything.”

He leaned forward, his eyes on Hermione’s. She licked her lips unconsciously and her breath hitched in her chest. The streetlight glowed behind his head like a halo. Her magic surged within her, sparking orange through her hair. He leaned closer and Hermione leaned forward to meet him, her lips pursed-

Her car door clicked open behind her, held by Severus’ free hand. He stepped away and swung it open.

“Come back tomorrow?” Severus asked. “I’ll treat you to dinner if you’ll do the dishes.”

Hermione laughed brightly to smother her disappointment. “Am I allowed to use magic?”

“Only after midnight,” he grinned. Hermione snorted and slid into the car with a smile. Severus waved as she pulled away. “See you tomorrow.”

Hermione watched him walk behind the restaurant, the streetlight throwing his sleek waist into sharp contrast. The light and the dark played together across his back. She licked her lips. Oh yes, she’d be back tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

The next evening was clear and surprisingly warm for winter in Australia. Hermione breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the tang of the sea. It had been a wonderful day. She'd spent most of it deep in research at the Wizarding sections of various libraries along the coast. One of them had opened the windows to catch the ocean breeze and the mix of the salt with the soul-soothing scent of old books was a heady mix. She caught herself nearly skipping to the door of the bistro and forced herself to slow. She was excited, yes, but there was no reason to rush. Severus wasn’t going anywhere, after all, and he probably wouldn’t want anyone to know Hermione was coming. Especially Minette. The girl was very perceptive; she’d know something was up if Hermione came in all flushed and out of breath.

It was after eleven and the main lights were off. Minette and a male employee were wiping tables and lifting chairs, Minette laughing with a toss of her curls. Hermione cast a Notice-Me-Not on herself, trying not to squirm as the magic slid down her body like a runny egg. She loathed the sensation, but it was effective and as long as she didn’t knock anything over, the Muggles wouldn’t notice her.

She made her way along the building until she was around the corner from the open kitchen door. She could hear music inside and two people laughing. Chairs scraped across the floor and water splashed. The same young man came out with two large bags of trash, which he tossed easily into the dumpster.

Some time passed, long enough that Hermione had to shift her weight from foot to foot to avoid them cramping, before Minette appeared at the open kitchen door. She shouted back into the kitchen then ran laughing as Severus snapped at her with a towel. The male employee scooted around the two of them to hand Minette her purse. Minette dodged behind him and stuck her tongue out at Severus, who snapped the towel again. The man stuck in the middle held his hands up in surrender and the three laughed.

Severus shook a finger at them with a grin, then returned to the kitchen. Minette and the male employee shared a laugh as they walked around the corner, coming close enough to Hermione that she could smell Minette's perfume. Minette leaned into him, knocking him against the side of the building near Hermione.

“You’re in a mood,” he laughed, pulling Minette close.

“It was a good day,” she said with a grin. “Severus was in an exceptionally good mood.”

“I noticed. I wonder if he’s got something exciting planned tonight?” Minette leaned back with a smirk and wound her arms around his neck.

“Do you have plans tonight, Gavin?” she purred. The man chuckled lowly and ducked his head to capture Minette's lips with his own.

Hermione turned away to avoid seeing the two of them and looked around the back of the building lot instead. There wasn’t much but her attention was caught by a small shed. She assumed it was used for storage, but it was wonderfully inviting with curtains behind two windows by the door. A little roof had been added to make a patio and it was covered with potted herbs and flowers. A windchime caught in the breeze.

The whole effect was rather charming, and completely ruined by the two lovebirds sporting near her. Carefully, she leaned down to pick up a can from where it had fallen from the dumpster and tossed it behind them. As she’d hoped, the noise startled the two and they jumped apart. Gavin cleared his throat.

“I guess we’d better head home, huh? Severus will probably be done soon,” he said.

“Yeah,” Minette agreed, rubbing the back of her head guiltily. “I’ll drop you off, Gav.”

They left together, Minette jingling the keys as she unlocked her little sports car. Hermione slid further into the shadows as they drove by, the headlights passing over her without them noticing.

Hermione hurried to the open door of the kitchen and eased herself in.

“You’re late,” Severus spoke with clear amusement behind her. She cast the counter spell and shuddered as the invisibility oozed back up her body. She closed the door behind her with a snort.

“Yes, well, I had to wait for some horny lovebirds to hie themselves home,” she said.

“I’m glad they at least made it outside the building before they started violating health and safety codes.” He chuckled to himself and nodded to the pile of dishes by her side. It was a much smaller stack this time. “Not after midnight yet.”

The sauce he was stirring spit and a spot of red landed on his bare arm. He hissed at the burn and returned his attention to the sauce with a curse. Hermione snickered quietly and rolled her sleeves up.

“There are fewer tonight,” she noted.

“Our dishwasher finally showed. We have a devil of a time keeping them, even with Minette dating them.” Severus cursed and turned the heat down further until the blue flame nearly flickered out. “Why is it always tomato sauce that gives me the most trouble?”

“It has to do with the viscosity of the tomatoes once they’ve broken down a little and-”

“Hermione, I know.” He stirred and cursed as a particularly large bubble burst and splattered hot tomato sauce all over his arm. “And while knowing may be half the battle, the other half is having the patience to not dump the whole lot in the bin.”

“That would be a shame,” she said. “It smells delicious and I would hate to have to rescue it from you.”

Severus looked up with a bright look of glee. “Can you cook? I’d be tempted to hire you as a sous chef.”

She laughed and shook her head. “An old teacher of mine did his best to instill any ability to do more than boil water, but alas, I am a poor student.”

Severus snorted, fiddling with the flame again. “Or you had a poor professor, and let’s not kid ourselves that he was anything but.”

“He was the best in his field and definitely one of my most memorable teachers. Heard he ran off after he got a whole bunch of medals. Left a heap of pining hearts behind him.”

He rolled his eyes. “No one missed me and you know it. Leave off with those and come eat this blasted sauce before I banish it.”

Hermione held back a laugh with a Herculean effort, taking a seat at the table from the previous night. Severus brought over two plates of steaming ravioli, topped with the red sauce and basil leaves. A timer went off and he retrieved a small loaf of bread from the oven. He brought it over on a cutting board with a serrated knife and a crock of herbed butter.

Hermione goggled. “Have mercy on me, Severus, or I’ll need a crane to lift me out of here.”

“Good. Someone needs to get some meat on you,” he said, rolling the ravioli and spearing it neatly.

“I’ll have you know I’m perfectly healthy, thank you,” Hermione said primly with her nose in the air. She huffed out a laugh as Severus snorted at her airs. She copied his movements, sliding a ravioli on her own fork. She moaned around the mouthful as she had with both meals the night before. “How? How are you so skinny with food this divine?”

He pierced her with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to know the tragic backstory of young Severus Snape? I don’t know that we’re that close yet.” He gave her a hot look.

She felt the heat rising in her face but sipped her water as casually as she could. “If you want to tell, of course I’ll listen. But I don’t want to pry.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing to tell, really. Like most people where I grew up, my parents rarely had enough money for both food and rent so we had to choose. Sometimes things would be good. My da would be working; Mam would smile and sometimes sing. My trousers wouldn’t hang so loosely on me. But more often than not, the only thing holding my trousers on were frayed suspenders and a bit of luck. I’ll always be lean.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t whine.”

He waved a hand again. “It’s neither here nor there, Hermione. But I’m much more interested in talking about your parents than mine.”

She nodded vehemently. “Yes, please. Did you have a chance to read them all? How did you lug all my notes home, anyway? You don’t live here, do you?”

He laughed. “For one, I’m a wizard and I shrank everything. For another, my home is literally outside that door.”

“Not that little shed?” Hermione asked in astonishment.

Severus shrugged, unoffended. “It suits my needs. As for your other question, yes, I read them all. And forgive me, but I opened one of the envelopes with the letters. I assume they’re all more or less the same?”

“Pretty much, yeah. They all recommend the standard treatment with the counterspell and waiting. I couldn’t tell you how many of them started with ‘there is so much we don’t know about the brain.’ But it’s been years and neither of my parents has made any of the progress they should.”

“One thing I didn’t see,” he said, pulling the notebooks out from a bag under the table, “is the results from their diagnostics. I assume they were normal?”

Hermione paused in the act of lifting her fork. “Their results? I wrote down all of the results from my attempts.”

“No, their results from the standard diagnostic spell? So you can determine what’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she said dismissively. “I skipped that. I know what’s wrong with them; I just need your help removing the Obliviate.”

Severus slowly lowered his fork. “Hermione, you can’t just skip the diagnostic spell. How else would you know-”

“I know what the problem is, Severus. I cast too strong an Obliviate and now my parents are wandering around halfway across the planet and I need to fix it. So are you going to help me or not?” she growled.

Severus hesitated. “Of course I am-”

“Oh thank you!” Hermione made to stand.

“But I think you’ve made a serious mistake,” Severus interrupted her. Hermione plopped back in her chair.

“What do you mean? I’ve studied as much as I can. I spent all day refreshing my memory on herbs we can use. I assume you’ll want to use dittany as the base, of course, and we can add-”

“Hermione,” he interrupted firmly. “I am not going to do anything until we diagnose your parents. Their lives could be at risk otherwise.”

“They’re perfectly safe!” she protested. “Dad recovered just fine and Mum never had a problem at all.”

Severus leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any idea what you’re playing at? You’re walking a very fine line.”

“No finer than the one you walked,” she snapped.

He lifted his head slowly and his steely eyes bored into hers.

“I may have cast dark magic while undercover as a Death Eater but I never cast against Muggles and I never played at healing anything without knowing precisely what would happen. What exactly is your plan, Granger? Keep pouring potions down their throats until one works or they both drop dead?”

“But they’re fine! I haven’t caused any lasting damage. I’m not doing Dark magic-”

“You purposely cast spells on Muggles- yes, they’re your parents but they are Muggles- and used experimental potions on them, one of which lead to the poisoning and thankful recovery. Of. A. Muggle. What do you call that if not dark magic?”

Hermione stood slowly, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I don’t have to listen to this. I didn’t come here to be lectured. I know I made a mess of things, Severus Snape. But I’m doing what I can and I don’t need anyone to stand in my way. I don’t need you to tell me right from wrong.” She flicked her wand and her notes tucked themselves into the bag, which she flung over her shoulder. “It was a mistake coming here. I won’t bother you again.”

“Hermione, wait-” Severus started to stand but Hermione apparated away with an angry pop. He slid into his seat slowly and lowered his head into his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

The dawn light had barely lightened Severus' room when something woke him. He blinked slowly, his brain trying to fight against the comforting warmth of his bed, but his eyelids drooped heavier and heavier and his breathing began to slow.

Bam, bam, bam! Someone pounded on the door, startling him near out of his skin. He threw himself out of bed with a curse, snatching his wand from beneath his pillow on the way. He flung the door open with a snarl and felt a tiny surge of angry satisfaction as Hermione took a startled step back.

“I… I wanted to apologize,” she said. Severus continued to glare, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.

Hermione gulped and continued in a rush, “I was wrong. For not listening to you, for not thinking things through, for... for assuming I knew what I was doing. For thinking I could fix them on my own. I- I need your help, Severus. I don’t know what to do.”

Severus didn’t move. He didn’t speak. The only way she could tell that he was alive was the minute rise and fall of his chest. She licked her lips nervously.

“Please, Severus. Say something?”

He waited another moment before sighing and pushing upright to stand in the doorway. Hermione smiled and moved to step toward him, but he held up his hand.

“If that’s all you want to say, then fine. But this is your only chance, Hermione. If I let you in, you’re doing this my way.”

“Your way?” she asked.

He nodded. “With diagnosis spells and intensive research and no more poisoning.”

She growled, orange sparks dancing along her pulled back hair. “I told you. I didn’t do that on purpose. And I know-”

“Then leave,” he said. “If you won’t listen to someone who knows better, then you might as well leave your parents here and go back to England. You can’t help them.”

He stepped back, swinging the door, but Hermione lunged forward and stopped it with her arm.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I just- I have all these… these thoughts in my head about how I can heal them on my own and how they’ll be so happy to see me and-”

She sniffed, tears overflowing her eyes to drip down her cheeks.

“And I- I know that’s not going to happen. They’re never going to forgive me, even if I do heal them. They’ll likely tell me to go to hell. And they’ll be right for it. I shouldn’t have cast that damn spell. And I shouldn’t try to heal them now. They’re as good as dead to me either way. And maybe it would have been better if they had died-”

She cut herself off with a horrified gasp. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Severus sighed gently. “Perhaps not, but at least it was honest.”

He released the door to swing open fully. She entered quickly, as though afraid he’d close the door in her face, and came to a dead stop as she registered the room.

It was small, which she’d expected, but the inside was quite comfortable. It was set up like a studio flat with one small room. The walls were painted in a warm coffee color and soft rugs scattered over the wood floor brought a homey feel. The door where she stood opened into the main living space, with a small kitchenette to her right and a couch along the wall to her left. His bed butted up against the far wall with a low table to separate it from the couch. A jutting wall across from the bed broke up the square room and contained a door. Another door straight across from the main entrance lead to a back patio.

And every inch of horizontal space was covered with books.

They were stacked in piles on the nightstand, fighting for space with a lamp. Cookbooks were shoved into a corner of the kitchen counter. Three books lay open on the bed, half covered in twisted sheets. A low table was completely covered in books, many of them open to pages with potions recipes, and they merged with a pile on the couch.

Herbs hung from the ceiling to dry, clearly cuttings from the pots outside. Hermione couldn’t help taking a deep breath nor the sigh of pure pleasure that followed. Rosemary, sage, and dittany fought with the dust of well-loved books to make a scent that would have made her rich if she could capture and sell it. It was comfort and peace and wonder all at once, and it spoke to her soul.

Severus waved his wand and a stack of books moved off the couch to settle on the floor by it. He motioned Hermione into the vacated space while he leaned on the counter.

“I have a few things to say to you,” he said. Hermione grimaced.

“I’m sure I deserve them,” she said.

“Probably,” he agreed. He gestured to the books on the table. “I am still willing to help you but you have to trust me. I’m a lot older than you-”

“Not that much.”

“I refuse to acknowledge the years between us aloud,” he said with a grimace. “Either way, I have significantly more experience with healing than you do. For example, it would never occur to me to attempt any sort of healing without at least knowing what the problem is.”

“But I know-”

“Yes, so you’ve said. And where has that gotten you?” Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Severus silenced her with a glare. “You asked for my help; these are my conditions. You trust me, you listen to me, and you follow my lead. If your parents can be saved, it will only be through hard work from both of us, and if you’re not willing to cede even the tiniest bit of control, then you need to walk away now.”

“I… I don’t- I know I need your help, but-”

He stood abruptly. “Goodbye, Hermione.”

Hermione leapt to her feet and caught him by the back of his shirt. She clutched the soft material with both hands and buried her face in it. Her breath hitched with sobs as the shirt grew wet with her tears.

“Please don’t. Please don’t kick me out now when I finally have hope again. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll wash dishes by hand until the day I die. I’ll learn to cook. Just please don’t abandon my parents.”

Severus stood stock still, his hand on the door handle. Hermione cried into his back for several long minutes until her sobs became broken hiccups. Finally he sighed.

“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered and let go of the door. Behind him, Hermione gave a watery laugh.

“I’m not,” she said. “No matter what. Even if… Even if we don’t fix my parents, I won’t regret a single minute of this. And I won’t forget that you were the only one willing to help me.”

He sighed and shook his head ruefully. “I’d offer you a handkerchief but they’re all in the wash. Can’t imagine why I’m going through them so quickly.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but the effect was ruined as he pulled his shirt off and dropped it on her head. She gawked at him as he crossed the room to rummage through his wardrobe, her face so flushed it almost burned. Her magic sparked along the edges of her hairline as she watched the play of muscles under his skin. They weren’t overlarge, but he clearly worked hard. He was lean and lithe and he carried himself with grace. Scars played across his ribs and a deep gash pulled painfully at the long-healed skin of his shoulder. His waist nipped in almost too sharply towards his core and when he turned, she couldn’t help but trace the thin line of hair leading down.

“This is hardly the first time you’ve seen me without a shirt, Hermione,” Severus smirked as he pulled a new shirt over his head. “You would think a Healer could control herself better.”

She shook her head and wiped her face on his discarded shirt.

“Yes, well,” she said, “you were more than half dead most of those times. And I’m not a Healer.”

Severus chuckled. “One problem at a time. First we heal your parents. Then we heal you.”

She passed him the damp shirt with a snort. “Oh yes, a walk in the park, I’m sure. Where do we start?”

He pointed to the pile of books open on the coffee table. “Remedial potions.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re not serious.”

“Deadly, which is exactly what we’re trying to prevent.” He stepped around her to pick up the bag she carried her notes in, discarded by the front door. “We’re going to work through the potions you created before and discuss the possible reasons they didn’t work. We will then hypothesize on ways to improve them and possibly start discussing new plans.”

“So soon? I thought-”

“Not as soon as you’re hoping. Today is for research and resetting base knowledge. Tomorrow is for finding your parents and casting the diagnostic. After that, who knows?” He smiled, a charming dimple appearing in one cheek. “Hop to it, apprentice. It’s time for you to learn.”

Before she could stop herself, Hermione launched at him, hugging him tightly. Severus hesitated for a moment, but his arms closed around her and held her tight. He lowered his head to rest on hers. His navy blue magic sparked against hers, shocking them both. They sprang apart.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, his cheeks red under his tan.

“No, it’s fine. It was my fault anyway. And- Right. Yes. Research. I’ll, er, just-” She fluttered her fingers at the table and stepped away to settle on the couch, her face aflame. Severus tossed the bag onto the couch next to her before crossing to the bathroom. He paused at the door, huffing out a low laugh to see Hermione had already wedged herself into the corner of the couch and was well entrenched in a thick potions tome. Tiny sparks of orange danced on her head, catching the dawning light in a halo around her. His fingers tingled in remembrance of her softness against him.

He grimaced and entered the bathroom. The water heater was not large and always ran out of warmth within a few minutes, but that suited him fine. He was going to need the coldest water he had.

\-----

Hermione jumped as a warm hand touched her elbow. Momentarily confused where she was, she blinked up at Severus’ deeply amused face.

“Oh. Hi,” she said, running her hands over her face and through her wild hair.

“Hi indeed,” he said, his baritone rumbling through her abdomen. Or was that her stomach?

He slid a plate with a steaming omelette toward her and her stomach grumbled again. She flicked her abdomen with a laugh and grabbed her fork to settle back on the couch.

“Do you always dive so deeply when you’re learning?” Severus asked, lifting his own plate to cross his legs on the couch. “You’ve barely moved.”

“Usually, yeah. It’s a problem, but I keep snacks nearby. Molly despaired of me ever eating an actual meal. But,” she said with a laugh and lifted her tea, “Harry and Ron figured out that as long as they keep me well supplied with snacks and something to research, I’ll leave them alone for weeks at a time.”

His eyebrows lifted. “I’m impressed. I can only fall so hard for a few days at most. Of course, no one ever leaves me snacks.”

“With food this amazing, I’m sure they think you can handle yourself,” she said, shoveling fluffy eggs and gooey cheese into her mouth. “I’m not entirely joking about you opening a location in England. It’d be brilliant.”

“I doubt it,” he said. “Speaking of England, how soon do you have to return? Or will you go back at all? Your parents are settled here and they may want to stay.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, I’m only on vacation. I couldn’t just… Well, I mean, it’s fine if my parents want to stay, but I have to…”

“Do you?” Severus asked softly. “What do you have there besides broken dreams and regret?”

“Memories,” she winced. “Those would be hard to replace, even if I could make new ones. And friends. Chosen family in the Weasleys. And Crookshanks, of course. He’d certainly be furious if I left him.”

Severus racked his brain. “Your cat? Sweet Circe, how old is he now?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s immortal,” she laughed. “He’s just as feisty now as he was the day I adopted him.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “The trouble that cat got into, he had to have used at least eight of his lives at Hogwarts. How is he possibly-” 

She shrugged. “He’s half-Kneazle and therefore impervious to time?”

“Works for me,” Severus laughed. He gathered their plates and stepped into the kitchen. “What have you learned so far?”

Hermione chewed her lip. “I think I know where I went wrong.”

Severus regarded her over his shoulder as he scrubbed the dishes. “So quickly?”

“Yeah. I forgot that my dad has low blood pressure, so the aconite that I used for pain relief- I don’t know how painful getting a lifetime of memories back will be- may have slowed his heart down too much.” She glared at her notes. “I don’t know how I missed that. It’s practically the first line written about the damn plant. But I was so focused on fixing my mistake that I missed it.”

Severus wiped his hands on a towel and nodded. “You’re not wrong, and that’s the first step toward being right. We all lose sight of the details when we get excited about things, Hermione. And your father is fine now, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He was in hospital for a few hours but they released him. I couldn’t get close enough to find out what happened, but now I know.”

“And knowing is half the battle,” Severus said with a smile. He gestured to the door. “I’m afraid I have to work today. Will you be all right here without me?”

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes wide and suspiciously innocent. She nearly quivered in anticipation. “You mean, I have to stay here, with all these books, all day? And I can’t go anywhere or do anything but read all day? Severus, please, don’t twist my arm so hard.”

Severus laughed. “Try not to burn anything. Remember to eat. I’ll be back later.”

She waved him off, her attention already absorbed by her potions text.

\-----

“Hermione,” he said later, tapping her on the shoulder. She jumped, nearly upsetting the book she was reading.

“Goodness, Severus! You scared me!” she laughed, clutching her heart. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Soon? It’s after seven.”

“Ahh… is that am or pm?” she asked sheepishly.

“Hermione.”

“I’m sorry! I meant to take a break, but I got to a really interesting part of this book and-”

“Hermione.” Though he glared at her, Hermione grinned to see his lips struggling not to lift.

“I really want to finish this part. It’s talking about various interactions between herbs and how they-”

“I know; I’ve read it. Hell,” he laughed, “I probably wrote part of it. Most Potions Masters have their works ‘borrowed’ for publications outside of academia.”

“That’s awful!” she said, lurching to her knees. “How could they possibly-”

She wobbled, her eyes fluttering as vertigo took over. Severus caught her arm and helped her stand.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said with a grimace, “but I could probably use some food. Know anyone who can help with that?”

Severus jerked his thumb to point out the window. “I have it on good authority that the owner of a tiny little bistro in Bunbury thinks rather highly of you. I suppose you might find a meal there.”

She chuckled, closing her notebook to slide it into her beaded bag. “Will you join me?”

He grimaced. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t think it would be appropriate. We’re not exactly dating or anything.”

“Well, no,” she said bemusedly, “but what should that matter?”

“Unless you want all of Bunbury to think that we’re lovers, I suggest you go alone. Minette told her parents about you being in town-”

“All the more reason, then. I’ve missed them.” She hefted her bag higher. “Come join me, Severus.”

She watched emotions flit over his face with fascination. He’d never been so unguardedly expressive back at Hogwarts, unless he was angry. The man had a plethora of ways to sneer at a person, but this was new. They passed too quickly for her to identify, but regret was the eventual winner.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Not tonight. Not when we… Well. Go enjoy yourself, Hermione.”

Fighting back selfish tears, she hoisted her bag up higher on her shoulder.

“I could stay here, you know. I’m sure you have something I can make without setting the house on fire. Pasta?”

“None prepared, and I don’t have enough counter space to make it.”

She blinked. “I meant packaged pasta. Even I can cook that.”

He gasped, touching a hand to his heart dramatically. “You wound me, ma chérie. Packaged, indeed.”

They shared a laugh before Severus turned her toward the door.

“Go. Have a good meal from someone who knows how to make one and enjoy yourself-” he plucked the bag from her shoulder- “without thinking about your quest for one night.”

“Severus-”

He held his fingers to her lips. “No. For tonight, you are simply Hermione Granger, English tourist. Go relax. Drink some good wine- not the house wines; they’re awful- have some good food, and rest your brain. Your parents will still be here tomorrow. But may I suggest you apparate to the alley nearby? Unless you want Nadia to start planning our wedding.”

Hermione laughed and held her hands up in surrender. “Very well, if you’re absolutely certain. But I’ll be back soon.”

Severus waved as she disappeared with a quiet pop. He couldn’t see the front of the restaurant, but with his door open he could hear into the kitchen. Minette’s squeal traveled swiftly across the short distance between his home and the kitchen door. He nodded with rueful satisfaction then turned to survey the room, still scattered with books he’d spent a lifetime studying. Reaching into her bag, he pulled out the largest notebook and settled into her discarded spot on the couch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of death, cancer, and poor health. 
> 
> I use a lot of French words and phrases in this chapter. Any mistakes are my own and no fault of my amazing beta LunaP999 or any of the friends I consulted for advice.

“Hermione!” Minette’s squeal could have shattered glass, it was so shrill. Hermione found herself caught up in a smothering hug. “Oh goodness, wait until I tell Maman and Papa you’re here!”

“Hello to you, too,” Hermione laughed and patted Minette desperately on the back. “It’s only been a couple of days, you know.”

“I didn’t expect to see you again for months! You’ve never come so often,” Minette explained, letting go of Hermione.

“Minny, let the rest of us say hi,” a husky warm voice said from behind the girl. Minette stepped aside to reveal a woman her complete opposite. Where Minette was tall and blonde, this woman was short and dark. Willowy versus plump. But their smiles were the same and so was the warmth within them.

“Nadia! Oh, it’s wonderful to see you,” Hermione said, leaning down to hug the older woman gently.

The woman had no such concerns and squeezed Hermione hard. “You won’t break me, ma petite chou. No matter what Christophe says, I’m not anywhere near death yet.”

Hermione laughed and hugged the woman with a bit more force. Though Nadia had always been pleasantly plump and her face was even rounder than usual, Hermione could feel that she had lost a concerning amount of weight since they’d last met. Her skin hung more loosely on her frame; she felt smaller, diminished, frail. And she carried a smell that Hermione recognized from her short time as a Healer: Death.

“What am I being accused of now?” a laughing voice boomed from behind Hermione. She released Nadia, keeping a hovering arm near her just in case, but found herself being swallowed in just as exuberant a hug as his daughter had given her. Where Minette was thin and Nadia was short, Christophe was neither. He was built like a barrel and twice as thick, his arms as big around as her waist and his head shiny and bald. Hermione near drowned in his hug, but he was gentle as he lifted her to rock side to side.

“Ah, Hermione,” he said, slurring her name the French way, “I was so worried I wouldn’t see you before you left again. Always such a whirlwind!”

“Yes,” Nadia said from below them. “You should slow down and learn to live a little. But first-” she tapped Christophe’s elbow sharply, “put her down, you silly man, and get back to cooking!”

Christophe chuckled and set Hermione back on her feet. “As ma tigresse commands. Stick around, Hermione, so we can catch up.”

He swept away on surprisingly light feet and once in the kitchen, the sounds of sizzling meat increased tenfold. Nadia patted Hermione on the arm.

“Come, ma chérie. Let us sit and have some wine. Minette!” Minette darted out of the kitchen, already holding a bottle and two glasses. She waved Hermione to the same table as before, her mother taking the other side. She poured the wine and waited until Nadia had taken the first sip. “Ahh, thank you Minny dear. This is my favorite.”

Minette rolled her eyes good-naturedly toward the kitchen. “Papa wants to tell you that he’s making you dinner and giving you an opportunity to choose a meal before he decides for you. So, what’ll it be?”

Nadia muttered under her breath and Hermione snickered to realize that she remembered more crude French than she expected. She and Minette shared a conspirator’s grin while Nadia flipped through the menu.

“You may tell your father that I am the love of his life and he will not boss me. And if he’s so inclined to indulge me, he may bring me the fish. Hermione will have some Steak Diane. He should be able to handle those.”

Hermione coughed delicately. “Does Hermione get a say in her dinner?”

Nadia laughed. “Non. Our dear Miss Hermione should also prepare herself for dessert before she leaves.”

Hermione groaned. “Have mercy on me or I’ll be as big as a house.”

Minette giggled. “You would never gain so much. You’ve got that beautiful dancer’s body. I’m quite jealous.”

Hermione threw her hands up before Nadia could agree. “As always, I surrender. It’s on you if you have to roll me out of here.”

Nadia studied her as Minette walked away, swirling her wine in her glass. Hermione felt suddenly pinned like a bug under a microscope.

“So,” Nadia said casually. “Who is he?”

Hermione held herself carefully, sipping her wine in what she hoped was a casual way. “Who is who?”

“The man who brought you here twice in one week. Is it another customer?” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Is it my new chef?”

Hermione choked on the wine. “I don’t… No?”

Nadia leaned back, pleased with herself. “Ah, so it is. Minette thought you two might know each other.”

Hermione wiped her front clean of the spilled wine. “What would Minette know? We only talked for a minute.”

“And you waited to see him later that night. And you are here again when you have never visited so often before.”

Hermione felt herself flush red clear to her roots. “We’re not- that is, I’m not- He’s…”

“He is, isn’t he? A mysterious man, and so broken.” Nadia swirled her wine thoughtfully. “He says he’s happy here, but is he? I don’t think so. But Minny said he’s been so excited the last few days. So… So light, I suppose. You’ve brought something back to him.”

“Nadia…”

“No, no, don’t say anything,” she laughed, fluttering swollen fingers at Hermione. “Just promise me that we’ll cater your wedding.”

Minette laughed as she appeared at their table suddenly, sliding their plates gently down. “Maman, do stop trying to set poor Severus up with every beautiful woman who walks in. Even if he does like her.”

Hermione covered her face with a long-suffering groan. “I should have just gone home. They don’t bug me.”

“They also don’t feed you such good food,” Nadia snickered and gestured with her fork. “Eat up, chouchou, and I promise I’ll stop. For now.”

Hermione shot her a skeptical glance but tucked into her steak anyway. Though it was beautifully cooked and as wonderful as she remembered from her past trips, it didn’t transport her the way in which she’d become accustomed. It didn’t lift her spirits. It didn’t make her sing.

She looked up to see Nadia watching her with a sly look.

“It’s delicious,” Hermione said. “My compliments to the chef.”

Nadia snickered. “Severus is better but don’t say anything to Christophe. I’m thinking of suggesting that we open another location with Severus as head chef to spare his dignity.”

“Truly?” Hermione asked. “Where?”

“Not in gloomy, dark England, that’s for sure!” she laughed. Minette appeared with a small loaf of bread and a pill tucked in her hand, which she slipped to her mother.

“Sorry, Maman, but Papa says-”

“I’m well aware of what your father says,” Nadia snapped, “and you may remind him that I am not a child to be chided and reminded. I haven’t missed a dose yet, have I?”

“No, Maman,” Minette said, her face losing some of its usual glow to pinched seriousness. “I’ll remind him.”

“No, Minny, no,” Nadia said, catching Minette’s arm as she stepped away. She held Minette’s hand up to press a kiss to the back of it. “I will remind him myself later. You don’t need to be our liaison. Je suis désolée, ma petite amour.”

“It’s all right,” Minette whispered. She patted her mother’s hand and walked away to another table. Nadia watched her go, her eyes filling with tears.

“Nadia? Are you ok?” Hermione asked, reaching her hand across the table. Nadia shook herself with a watery laugh and squeezed Hermione’s hand gently.

“Oh, I’m just a silly old woman. Don’t trouble yourself.” She popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed it down with a gulp of wine. She caught Hermione’s eye and chuckled. “You can ask, chouchou. It’s all right.”

“Minette mentioned that you’d been sick.”

Nadia snorted. “I  _ am _ sick. This damnable cancer just won’t let go.”

“Again?” Hermione asked, alarmed. “I thought you’d beaten it.”

“So did we, but alas. Again.” She toasted the ceiling with a mocking glance. “And by the grace of God I’ll beat it  _ again  _ and live on to annoy my family for many years to come.”

Hermione clinked her glass against Nadia’s in a toast. “Your lips to God’s ear.”

They drank and Hermione swallowed her tears with the wine, but Nadia’s melancholy mood had lifted and soon she was telling stories with such drama that Hermione was crying from laughter. The two women continued to converse over dessert- not more of Severus’ pears as Hermione hoped but a delightful cherry tart instead- and well after closing, when Christophe cleared his throat gently. Nadia stuck her tongue out at him but accepted his hand as she scooted back from the table. She staggered as she stood and Hermione was reminded in a blink just how frail the already tiny woman had become. The cancer that was eating her from the inside out was winning. Though she hadn’t believed in God since she was a child, Hermione whispered a prayer as she gathered her coat.

“Christophe,” she said, “I never got a check.”

“And you never will so long as I’m here,” he boomed genially.

“That’s right,” Nadia said beside him. “You’re family and family never pays.”

“Well, not the family that we like, anyway,” Minette snickered. Christophe shooed them out the front door, locking it behind them. Gavin appeared from around the back and offered Nadia his arm. She pinched his cheek and they shared a laugh. 

Hermione hung back to watch them, her heart full of love but so sad at the same time.

“It doesn’t stop hurting,” Christophe spoke next to her. She looked up at him to respond but her words fled at his expression. His normally happy and always smiling face was twisted with anguish as he watched his wife of many years make her way slowly down the sidewalk. She stepped oddly and her ankle twisted, but Gavin caught her. He swept her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing and Minette hovered next to them like a worried mother hen.

“Will she… What do the doctors…” Hermione gulped. “How long?”

Christophe sniffed. “There’s still some hope and the medicine is helping keep her comfortable, but… not long. A few months, maybe less. Minette and Gavin are moving their wedding up, just… just in case.”

Hermione patted his arm. “I’ll be there.”

He cleared his throat and chuckled. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’ll be so rushed and Nadia is so tired-”

“Christophe!” the woman in question called to them. “I’m being stolen by a dashing young man. Don’t rush to save me!”

“Gavin, you can’t steal both of my favourite women. You’ll have to choose one,” he called back. Gavin’s eyes grew wide with mock horror and he pretended to shake in his boots. Minette flicked him on the ear.

“This is what we should focus on for now, Christophe,” Hermione said. “Not what could be or what might be. Just the now. Nadia has beaten this before.”

“And she may do so again,” he said with a sigh. “I know, and you’re right. This is not the time to be losing hope. She needs me- us. All of us. Even your Severus.”

Hermione snorted. “He’s not my Severus.”

“Ah, but he will be. You should have seen him pretending not to listen when we talked about you. He burned the tomato sauce twice.”

“He does have trouble with red sauces,” Hermione mused, then blushed. “I mean…”

Christophe chuckled and tapped her gently under the chin. “I watch the cameras every night, ma petite chou. I wouldn’t mind a double wedding.”

She ran a hand over her face. “It’s not what you think. He’s helping me…”

“And you’re helping him. It’s good for both of you.” He patted Hermione's shoulder, reminding her for a moment of her own father. “He’s one of us and you’re one of us. We want you both happy. But, ahh, to be delicate…”

Hermione gulped as Christophe leaned down to speak into her ear.

“Keep it out of my kitchen, oui? I don’t want to know what you do, either before or after midnight. And get a ring on him.” He pecked her on the cheek and walked away, leaving her beet red and speechless behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

She slept fitfully, waking in starts throughout the night. Her dreams were filled with faces and voices- her mother’s, Nadia’s, Christophe’s, her father’s. All of them melding and blending and shouting at her- to go home, to stay, to run, to help. But Severus’ voice spoke over all, soothing her and caressing her cheek, telling her to sleep.

She woke some time later, the sun fully up and streaming through the half-pulled curtains on the kitchenette wall. A plate of eggs, sausage, and toast was set on the counter under a stasis spell. A note was propped beside it.

“Good morning, Apprentice. You weren’t sleeping well on my couch (too tired to Apparate?) so I diffused some dreamless sleep as I left. I hope it worked and this note finds you rested. Eat up! You’ve got a long day of studying ahead of you. When I return this evening, I want 36 inches on various herbs that we should consider in a potential potion for your parents. Focus on their interactions with each other, remembering your father’s heart condition.

“Yours, Severus”

She choked back a strangled laugh, both irritated and exhilarated that he’d given her an assignment. She was a grown woman! She hadn’t been a student in several years and for another thing… But it was nice to have a direction pointed out to her. To know that someone understood what was going on, especially since she didn’t. It was nice to not have to be in charge for once.

She took the plate to the low table and reached for a stack of books to read while she ate, but navy blue electricity flashed across the top and snapped at her fingertips. She yelped and shook her tingling fingers and a note materialized on top of the books.

“Nice try, Hermione. Eat first,” it said. This time she threw her head back and howled with laughter. Toasting towards the restaurant kitchen with her fork, she dug into the plate with gusto. Though it was a simple meal, it transported her in a way she’d missed with Christophe’s meal last night. It wasn’t any particular flavor that Severus used and Christophe didn’t, she mused. But there was something more to Severus’ meals. She’d have to ask him later if he slipped magical herbs in.

Her mood bright and her steps jolly, she set the empty plate into the sink then returned to the stack of books. But they shocked her again and another note materialized as she sucked on her tingling fingertips. His scrawled handwriting appeared: “I seem to recall you saying something about washing dishes every day for the rest of your life?”

She glared, but the note remained as unmoving as its author. She cast a sly look at the note before reaching for the books again, but electricity danced across the top of the stack threateningly. Huffing in defeat, she stomped to the sink to scrub at the dish and fork with vehemence. She made herself a pot of tea and scrounged some biscuits while she was at it and brought the lot back to the table. The note disappeared as she sat, which she took as permission, but she was still hesitant as she reached for the top book. But nothing happened. It slid off without resistance or sparks, and Hermione settled in to study with delight.

Some hours later, the book shut itself with a snap. Confused, Hermione reached for it, but it spun away across the couch. A note materialized again.

“I still don’t have packaged pasta, so don’t ask. I can trust you to make your own sandwich, yes?”

She gave her wand an ill-natured flick and the fridge flew open. Condiments marched out along with meat, cheese, and vegetables. They chopped and arranged themselves neatly on slices of bread before returning to the fridge. The plate floated over to her and settled itself on the table while the sandwich makings put themselves away. She tapped the teapot which refilled itself and whistled merrily.

She gave a sideways glance to the note but decided that perhaps Severus had a point, and besides, studying was hungry work. She flipped through her notes as she ate, letting her mind mull over the facts she’d written down and planning an outline for her assignment.

Time passed without her notice until Severus tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped, nearly upsetting the cold tea on the couch next to her. She looked up at him sheepishly.

“I promise I ate,” she said. Severus tapped her on the end of her nose.

“I know. Well done.” He lowered himself gingerly onto the other end of the couch and lifted his long legs to rest on a clear spot on the table. His head fell back and his hair spread on the backrest behind him like a dark halo. He sighed gustily, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Long day?” Hermione asked with sympathy. She tapped the teapot to reheat it and poured him a cup. He accepted it with one hand but only held it. 

“Incredibly. Gavin didn’t show and neither did Minette; they weren’t answering their phones so Nadia and Christophe left in the middle of the lunch rush to go find them. Andrew took over hosting and waiting with Will, but that left me with all of the cooking. We were packed from noon until past nine.”

“It’s after nine?!” Hermione squeaked, turning to look out the windows.

“It’s well after midnight, Hermione.” Severus sat up to sip his tea, groaning with the soul-deep pleasure that only a born and bred Englishman can feel at drinking a hard-earned cup of tea. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, cradling the half-empty cup in both hands. “It would have been tolerable if the other dishwasher- can’t remember the arsehole’s name but he’s fired anyway- had shown up. Third time this week he’s missed a shift. And he’d better not come begging Christophe for his job back after this or I’ll beat him blue myself.”

“Severus!” Hermione cried. “You should have fetched me. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I know how to clean dishes with or without magic.”

Severus chuckled under his breath, lifting one eyebrow without opening his eyes. “And gotten myself fired for hiring their favorite patron? Non. Besides, you had your own work to do and I’ve had longer days.”

He stood, draining the cup and handing it back to Hermione.

“I’m going to shower and I will give you the world if you have something resembling an evening meal ready by the time I get out.”

Hermione nodded, taking the cup to the kitchenette as Severus went to the bathroom. She waited until she heard the water start, then disapparated silently. She reappeared a few minutes later with several bags and set to work, using magic to hurry things along as she went. She heard Severus curse mildly just before the water turned off with a clank. Being doused in cold water after at least a seventeen hour work day would likely not improve his mood, but she hoped that her meal would.

The phone rang.

She jumped near out of her skin with a gasp. Severus ran from the bathroom, a towel hanging from his bare shoulders and his plaid pyjama pants untied. He cursed as he rifled through his bedside table, having to reach in nearly to his elbow before unearthing the loudly ringing phone.

“Yes?” he answered. Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye as she slid the bread into the oven. She wasn’t necessarily trying to eavesdrop, but she was curious why he had a phone and who he trusted enough to give them the number. She could hear a shrill woman’s voice on the other end but even as Severus pulled it away from his ear with a wince, she couldn’t tell if the woman was laughing or crying.

“All right, that’s- Yes, of course I-” Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s fine. Yes, really. Ok. Goodbye.”

He ended the call with a firm click and tossed the phone on his bed. He ran his hands over his face and laughed bitterly behind them.

“Severus? Is everything all right?” Hermione asked.

“They found Minette and Gavin.” He lowered his hands to smile at Hermione but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They threw a surprise wedding. They didn’t tell anyone, so both sets of parents were frantic, but they all ended up at the park at the right time and witnessed the wedding.”

“How did Nadia take it?”

Severus snorted. “After she yelled herself hoarse, she cried herself silly and declared that they were both disinherited for not letting her cater the event. They had to promise to let her throw a party in the summer before she’d let them go home.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose that explains her tone, then,” Hermione chuckled. “Come and eat before it gets too cold.”

Severus stared at the spread before him, apparently registering it for the first time. Hermione had shrunk and stacked the books along the couch’s back, and transfigured a few odds and ends to make a table and two chairs. She’d spread a tablecloth she’d magicked from a napkin and set two candles in the middle.

Spaghetti steamed in a large bowl and its sauce sat in a smaller bowl next to it. Salad with plenty of julienned vegetables had its own bowl on the other side of the table. And a teapot steamed contentedly on a little stand within easy reach of them both.

A timer dinged and Hermione opened the oven to pull out a loaf of garlic bread. A few flicks of her wand and the steaming slices arranged themselves in a basket by the salad.

“Is it ok?” she asked quietly, willing her voice not to shake. “It’s packaged.”

Severus laughed and the tension in his shoulders eased. He offered Hermione his arm with a genuine smile and she took it with an amused wink. He settled her into one chair and took the other, and they passed plates and bowls without speaking. Hermione watched Severus expertly twirl the spaghetti onto his fork and savor the bite. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he nodded with a chuckle.

“Well, chérie, how may I wrap the world I owe you?”

She flushed and busied herself with her own meal. “I’m glad it’s acceptable.”

“For packaged pasta,” he said with a smug wink. Then held up a hand to forestall her amused and mildly offended argument. “I’m not saying you aren’t worthy of praise and I truly do thank you for the meal, Hermione. I’m just sorry I haven’t had time to make fresh pasta for you. It’s in a different league, I promise you.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m not sure if I’m placated or insulted.”

“I have that effect on people.” He lifted a julienned carrot. “Your work?”

She nodded. “The bagged salad selection was poor so I made it from scratch.”

“I can tell. Your knife and wand work is exceptional; it always was, and I’m sorry that my efforts on Dumbledore’s behalf prevented me from praising you more often.”

“Or at all,” she snickered.

“Or at all,” he agreed and toasted her with his tea. “Do you know I remember every instance in which I wanted to give you points but couldn’t?”

“Do you really? How many-”

“Eleven thousand, four hundred thirty-two.” Hermione’s mouth fell open and her fork dropped to her plate with a loud crash. Severus sipped his tea suspiciously slowly, his lips struggling not to rise.

Hermione laughed. “You’re joking.”

Severus toasted her with a grin. “About the exact amount, yes. I lost track somewhere around five thousand points in your third year, but it’s probably close.”

Hermione sighed gustily. “To think, all those years we could have won the House Cup…”

Severus snorted. “By an even wider margin? Dumbledore handed it to you every year. It’s a bit hard to rise above Dumbledore’s Chosen.”

“Hmm, I suppose. It wasn’t always easier being at the top, you know.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said with a bitter smile. “And that’s why I left. I’ve been on all levels of popularity and power, and it’s just not meant for me. I’d much rather be here, and now, and with you.”

Hermione studied him for a quiet moment. “Are you happy here?”

Severus twirled some more spaghetti mechanically, his attention not on his plate.

“I am… not unhappy, I suppose. I have a job I enjoy and people I find tolerable to work with. Minette and Gavin are occasionally amusing, like puppies. But am I fulfilled? Do I have a sense of purpose here?” He let the spaghetti slide off his fork to land in a splash of red sauce that splattered on his chest. He wiped it off with his napkin distractedly. “No, Hermione. I have none of those things. I am trying to grow roots here but I find myself wanting to tumble in the wind instead.”

“Why don’t you leave?” she asked. He plucked a slice of garlic bread and began crumbling the crust.

“Where else would I go? Didn’t you yourself point out that Australia is about as far from England as one can get? There’s nowhere else for me.”

“America could be-” But Hermione cut off at the wry glance Severus swept her under his raised eyebrow. She chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t want to live there, either. And you already tried Europe.”

“Not all of it, but a large chunk.” He sipped his tea and shrugged. “I’m a decent enough cook, but anyone with time and patience can learn as much as I know. Potions is my passion but there are few enough of us Masters that anything I create would be found out. No one wants my potions anymore. No one wants me.”

“Well,” Hermione said with false cheer, “we know that’s not true. Minette was singing your praises the moment I arrived. And all the customers-”

Severus snorted. “They would hardly notice if I left.”

“I think you’re wrong. I certainly noticed a difference in the food when Christophe cooked for me yesterday, and even Nadia said your food is better.” 

He chuckled. “I’m cheap; that’s all she cares about. She can’t taste her food with the chemo in her system.”

Hermione sat back with a pout. “You refuse to be cheered, then? Fine. But know that I see what you refuse to. Those people in there love you and you deserve to be loved by them. Nadia sees you as an answer to her prayer. She wants to expand the restaurant and-”

“Hermione,” Severus said gently, laying his hand over hers, “Nadia will be dead soon.”

Hermione reared back, horrified. “That’s not true! She says she’s getting better.”

“She isn’t and she knows she won’t. But she won’t let herself talk about it, nor will she let anyone else. It’s classic denial and it does no good. She’s just hurting Christophe and Minette.”

Hermione watched him evenly. “And you.”

Severus sighed. “And me. Yes.”

Hermione frowned. “There has to be something we can do. We’re magic, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Magic can’t cure everything, Hermione. You know that.” He slumped in his chair, his long legs sliding out to stretch their full length. He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “I’ve looked, I promise. There’s plenty about how to slow the growth but it never works and the side effects are often worse than the potential reward.”

“But… There has to be something. We can’t just-”

“I’m not saying we have to give up on her. I’m just saying…” He released his breath in a whoosh. He rubbed his temples and breathed deeply before lowering his hands to catch Hermione’s eyes and hold contact with them. “There’s a chance we can save your parents. Let’s focus on that instead.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but something in Severus’ eyes stopped her. She could almost feel the pain coming off him in waves. He was sad. He was so sad it called to her and begged her to help. And he was so tired. Of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but it felt soul-deep. She swallowed, blinked slowly, and turned away.

“All right. What is the plan for that?”

He smiled sadly and nodded minutely to thank her. “I’m not working tomorrow. I thought we might find them and see what we can learn.”

“It’s Wednesday tomorrow,” she said. “There’s a little Indian place they like just down the street from their practice.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow. “They’re that predictable?”

“The Irish pub is on Monday and they usually have a business meeting at the same time. Tuesday and Thursday they bring their own lunch to the office. And Friday is their busy day so they don’t often get to take lunch. But Wednesdays are sacred.” She paused and gulped down the rising grief in her throat. “Wednesdays were always our special family lunches. They’d meet me at school and take me out. Course, that stopped after Hogwarts, but over the summers…”

Severus cleared his throat as she trailed off and pretended not to notice how wet her eyes were as she casually wiped at them.

“That’s our plan, then. We’ll leave early to catch the lunch rush.”

She nodded and pulled out her wand. With a flick, the leftovers sorted themselves into containers and placed themselves into the fridge. The dishes slid into hot water in the sink, scrubbing and rinsing and drying themselves on the way to the cabinets. Severus smirked at her and stood from his chair to help her from hers. Hermione flicked her wand again and the table and chairs returned to their original shapes and rearranged themselves. The books restored themselves to their proper sizes and returned to their places, some fluttering open to marked pages. In moments, the room was back to normal. Hermione picked up her coat from where she’d left it the night before.

“I should be going,” she said.

“What, my couch is suddenly not good enough for you?” he smirked. Hermione blushed and cleared her throat.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep here last night. I sat down to grab my notes and saw something interesting in a page you’d marked and…”

“Suddenly you were waking up?” He chuckled. “I’ve had those nights. We both need to get whatever rest we can tonight, though. Tomorrow promises to be… a revelation in many ways, I’m sure.”

“Hopefully it will lead us to positive changes,” Hermione said, sliding her coat on. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

“Not any earlier than nine, if you please.” Severus reached out to uncurl her coat’s collar that had gotten tucked under itself. As he did, his warm hands brushed across Hermione’s cheek.

They froze. Hermione barely breathed as she slowly drew her gaze up to his eyes. He stared at her, his dark eyes boring into her own. Just as slowly, his gaze dropped to her lips. She swallowed convulsively and licked them without conscious planning. Severus drew in a deep breath.

And stepped back.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he said, stepping away to open the door. The cool night air washed over them both, slapping at her hot and red face with censure.

“Goodnight, Severus,” she whispered as she passed him, disapparating quietly.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione groaned as she rose the next morning to slap at the hotel alarm clock. Its numbers glared at her accusingly, or maybe it was her own guilt making her face flush. Her skin was slick with sweat and her sheets were twisted around her legs. She still throbbed between, aching in vague remembrance. Her dream was fading rapidly, but Severus had been heavily involved. His voice. His hands...

“Stupid girl,” she whispered to herself and scrubbed at her face roughly. “Stupid, stupid chit. Just going from one man to another.”

She kept up the tirade as she rose, showered, brushed her teeth, and dressed. She eventually reached a level of vitriol aimed at herself that would have made a sailor blush, but it all came down to the same thing: she was falling for Severus Snape. Her former professor. A former Death Eater. A man many would consider an absolute bastard.

And the aching in her core dared her to prove them wrong.

“The only solution,” she told herself firmly as she worked the styling cream into her damp curls, “is to ignore it. It won’t go anywhere. He doesn’t see you that way, nitwit. So ignore it until it dies.”

She gave a sharp nod to the mirror but her confidence was short lived.

“Oh lord, what if he wants to talk?” she moaned. “What if… what if he wants...”

She shook her head. “No, Hermione. No. If he wanted anything, he would have kissed you. But he didn’t, and he doesn’t, and that’s all right. You’re a grown woman; you can handle a little rejection. It’s fine.”

But her lip wobbled and her eyes were suspiciously bright in the mirror. She shook her head in frustration, her hair flying wildly.

“It’s like Mum used to say: ‘You’re just tired, chickadee.’ That’s all. Mum’s always right, so concentrate on getting her back.”

She took a few deep breaths, willing her tears to dry and her face to lose its lobster coloring. But her fair skin seemed to mock her and her blush was only growing. Still, the tears were gone so she’d make do. With a quick scrunch of her still damp curls, she tucked her wallet into her pocket, hoisted her bag on her shoulder, and disapparated.

Severus was just stepping out of his house when she appeared by the dumpster around the corner. The morning sun set off highlights in his hair, adding brown to the deep black. His waist was trim under his denim jacket and his jeans did nothing to hide the shape of his arse beneath them.

Her heart flopped and heat rose in her belly as she watched his long fingers wrap around the key in the lock. It was such a simple gesture, one she'd seen a thousand times, but he made it feel somehow deeper. Her attention was arrested by his long fingers and strong square hands. Even as she chastised herself for being so affected, she was barely able to breathe-

“Good morning,” Severus said, suddenly much closer than she realized.

Hermione startled and jumped back with a small squeak. Severus smirked.

“Didn’t sleep well, then?” he asked, amusement warming his sarcasm.

“Sorry, I’m just…” Hermione made vague gestures toward her head, not even sure herself what they meant. “Tired, I guess?”

Severus nodded. “I understand. But hopefully some food will bring us back to the land of the living.”

Hermione chuckled. “Here’s hoping. Where are you off to?”

“To the Indian restaurant you mentioned? Have you forgotten already?” Severus asked with a raised eyebrow. “You are (italicize) tired.”

“No, I remembered, but why are we leaving so early? I can side-along apparate you to the alley behind. I’ve been there several times.” She smiled. “They have excellent naan.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said with a grin. He tossed his keys gently to flip the remote up and pushed a button. A horn beeped from around the corner where staff parked. Hermione shook her head at herself.

“I hadn’t considered driving,” she admitted. “I’ve been away from Muggles too long.”

“Perhaps that can be remedied,” Severus said as he led the way to his car. He opened the door for her and she slid into the impeccably clean seat, settling the bag with her notes by her feet.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a small car type,” she said as he entered the driver’s side.

“Better gas mileage than those giant trucks everyone else drives, and much more maneuverable. Put on your seatbelt.”

She snickered as she did so. “I bet you follow the exact speed limit.”

“It’s a Corolla, not a sports car,” he said, sliding his own seatbelt across his chest. Hermione smirked as she opened her mouth to let loose another sly remark, but her eyes caught on his hands. Those long fingers… her dream flared back to life from its half-remembered and entirely-ignored state to remind her of how those hands had felt on her skin. Her face flushed and she turned away to hide it. Severus didn’t seem to notice and guided them onto the main street with ease.

They didn’t speak until they’d been on the highway for several minutes. Hermione’s flush had faded and she was content to watch the world pass by out the window. She couldn’t see individual people as they were driving too quickly, but she could see neighborhoods and houses with obvious signs of the families that lived there. She didn’t feel the sigh rising in her chest until it released through her nose with a wistful and nostalgic whine.

“Knut for your thoughts?”

She chuckled. “They’re still not worth that much. I’m just thinking about life.”

He smiled but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I would think life is worth far more than a Knut.”

“Some certainly don’t think so, but I agree with you.” She leaned back in her seat and stretched her legs out. “I’m mostly just enjoying being in the passenger seat and not feeling like I need to be prepared to apparate out to save my life.”

“Who’s that bad a driver?”

“Harry.” She chuckled at Severus’ quick glance of incredulity. “He and Ginny have their own Muggle flat when they need to get away. And Harry sold her on the idea that it would be weird for them to not have a car if they were going to pretend to be normal, so they got one.”

“And Ginevra bought that line?”

Hermione shrugged. “I doubt it, but she’s willing to do most anything to make Harry happy. He’s been kind of lost since the war ended and he went through a very dark phase. We all did, I suppose.”

Severus slid a hand across the center console to lay across Hermione's. “I hope your darkness has gotten lighter as well.”

Hermione considered and discarded several responses- most involving bitter comments about her former fiance- before settling on one. She gulped down sudden nervousness and turned her hand to clasp Severus’ fingers with her own.

“What is this, Severus?” she asked.

“This?” he repeated, squeezing her hand in his. “This is a man holding hands with a beautiful woman.”

“While he’s driving to meet the parents whose memories she removed and banished to the ends of the earth?”

He huffed out a snort. “Don’t overthink it, Hermione. It’s whatever you want it to be. If you want my holding your hand to mean something, then it does. If you don’t, then it won’t. But I don’t intend to let go any time soon.”

His thumb caressed her knuckles before he lifted her hand to lay a kiss on the back.

“So deal with it,” he said. She burst out laughing and he joined her, chasing away bits of darkness around them. She still felt a clutch of nervousness in her chest at the thought of seeing her parents again, but being with Severus made her feel like maybe things would work out after all.

~~~~~

“Take this right,” she said some time later, pointing toward a strip mall. Severus followed her directions then gave a low whistle at the nearly full parking lot they pulled into.

“They’re popular, I take it?”

Hermione checked her watch. “Yes, they’re the best Indian place in the area so they’re always packed. But they’re also incredibly fast so we shouldn’t be waiting too long for either a table or my parents. We should be right on time to catch them.”

Severus parked in a far spot and crossed to open Hermione’s door before she could. She smiled at him but couldn’t help wrinkling her nose anyway. Severus chuckled.

“Indulge me,” he said. “My mother would rise from her grave if I didn’t at least make an effort.”

“My mother would have bitten your hand off. She was always very firm in her feminist beliefs.”

“Was?” he asked. Hermione’s lips twisted in something resembling a smile.

“Monica Wilkins, as my mother is now, is much less militant in her femininity. But still a wonderful wife and business partner to my father, Wendell Wilkins. They’re expanding their business, you know.”

“I do,” Severus said, glancing down at the woman whose bushy hair did a poor job hiding her pale face. Pulling her to a halt, he clasped his hands to her shoulders. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Hermione hesitated before nodding slowly. “Yes. My parents are in there.”

“The people who were once your parents are in there, yes, but your parents are gone. And the diagnostic spell could tell us exactly that.”

She let out a breath slowly, her shoulders sagging a little. “I know that, Severus. But… well, there’s always hope. The spell could give us the answer I was missing.”

Severus watched her for a moment, his eyes holding hers until she looked down and away.

“All right,” he said at length. “We’ve come this far.”

They entered the restaurant a moment later and while Severus spoke to the hostess, Hermione scanned the room. Her parents sat in a booth at the very back that was covered in papers and brochures. Her dad- of average height and comfortably round- made a sharp contrast to her mum, who was tall and thin. But they both had the same hair as Hermione, the same smile, and the same self-assuredness in their gestures. They were talking animatedly, pointing to various documents scattered in front of them and ignoring their lunch. The table in front of them was empty.

“Oh look, love,” Hermione said brightly, pointing to the table. “Our table is open! Please can we sit there, ma’am?”

Severus cast a beleaguered look at the hostess before lifting Hermione’s hand to kiss it. “It’s where we had our first date. Do you mind?”

The hostess’ face went soft and she wiped some marks on the seating chart. “Of course you can sit there. My own husband and I met for the first time at that table. It has good energy.”

She gathered two menus and led the way as Hermione tried very hard not to look at Severus. She took her seat across from him, facing away from her parents. She desperately wanted to watch them, to fill her heart and eyes with them, but Severus needed a clear line to cast the spell. His eyes were gentle as he sat, and his foot pressed against hers in understanding.

“That was brilliant,” he said after the hostess had left. “Not the story I would have gone with, but still. You’re brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly.

Severus chuckled under his breath. “They’re arguing rather vehemently over something. Your mother makes the same facial expressions you do when you’re not willing to admit you’re wrong.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said primly, thrusting her nose into the air. “I’m never wrong. You can ask anyone.”

He snickered. “Can you distract attention enough for me to cast the spell? It’s complicated and I’m a bit out of practice.”

She nodded and flipped open their menus, keeping up a steady stream of words as his hands made quick movements under the table. “The naan is exceptionally good, of course. And all of their paneer dishes are divine. Oh, chicken pakora! What do you think, dear?”

“Hmm,” Severus said distractedly, his eyes unfocused on the menu as he concentrated. “It sounds heavy. Perhaps something lighter?”

Hermione flipped through the menu but she wasn’t seeing it. Her attention was glued on the rising energy she could feel from him as his gaze slowly lifted to focus on her parents. His brows drew together suddenly, his expression growing dark and worried.

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked. Hermione looked up at her with a start, clapping a hand dramatically to her chest to draw attention away from Severus.

“Goodness! I didn’t hear you,” she said with a laugh. She gestured to Severus. “This one seems to think that your chicken pakora sounds too heavy. Poppycock, I say, but what do I know? What would you recommend for those who are newly health conscious?”

The waitress chuckled under her breath and flipped the menu to the end. “We have a lighter selections menu here. How about I give you a few minutes to peruse, and some naan for the table?”

“That would be wonderful,” Hermione said brightly. The waitress nodded and stepped away to chat with another table. Severus finished his finger twisting but his gaze was still focused firmly on her parents.

“Do you have any spare paper?” he asked her quietly. She swallowed nervously before pulling a notebook and pen from her bag to slide them across the table. He nodded his thanks and scrawled rapidly. Hermione tried to watch, but even if it hadn’t been upside down, she was sure she wouldn’t have made heads or tails of the diagrams he was drawing.

“Do you need another minute?” the waitress asked, sliding a plate of naan onto the table. Hermione flicked a glance at the open page of her menu and picked randomly.

“We’ll both have the chicken biryani and chai, please,” she said, sliding Severus’ menu out from under his hand. The waitress took the menus and Hermione nodded her thanks, even as she felt the tension coiling in her belly. Severus’ eyes were pinched at the corners, and his unguarded expression made her guts twist. She slipped some naan triangles onto their plates and nibbled as she waited.

Severus finished scrawling something in incredibly messy handwriting and looked up to grimace at her.

“We have a problem.”


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione gulped. “What kind of problem? Are they all right?”

Severus sighed, sliding his hand across the table to clasp her suddenly cold fingertips.

“They’re not dying-” Hermione released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, “but restoring their memories may be impossible. I’m sorry, Hermione.”

She shook her head. “ _ I’m _ supposed to be the pessimistic one. What did you learn?”

Severus pulled the notebook out of the way as the waitress returned with their meals. They each smiled and nodded, and once the waitress left, he slid the notebook to her.

He’d drawn a surprisingly detailed picture of the brain, with lines leading to various points with runic symbols. Hermione understood several of them- health, pressure, growth- but one escaped her. It was pointing to a circle the size of a marble near the base of the brain.

“What is this?” she asked, tapping the rune.

Severus sighed. “It means shield.”

“Is that my Obliviate? It’s shielding their memories?”

“Your Obliviate should have left no trace, but on occasion Muggle brains can develop… this,” he said, gesturing to the circle. “It’s odd that both of your parents developed it.”

“What is it?”

“Think of it like…” he paused to consider his words, tapping the pen gently against his lips. “Have you ever heard of a capsular contracture?”

Hermione’s eyebrows lifted of their own accord. “No?”

Severus grimaced. “In layman’s terms, it’s a protective capsule of scar tissue that forms around a foreign body. It can be quite painful.”

“Are my parents in pain?” she asked with a hiss. He squeezed her hand to stop her from turning around.

“No, they’re fine.” He gestured to the lines of scrawled words next to the diagram. “This is the result of the diagnostic. Your dad has low blood pressure, which we knew, and a small heart murmur, but is otherwise healthy. Your mum is in fantastic health but should maybe consider bumping up her calcium intake. She’s genetically predisposed to osteoporosis.”

He tapped the tiny circle. “Their brains formed capsules around the damage-”

“I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter, Hermione. The point is that their bodies reacted to a foreign threat and formed these shields to protect their brains. I’ve heard of it happening before, but it’s-”

“Oh dear,” a new voice spoke next to them. “Are you a surgeon, young man?”

Severus blinked rapidly and looked up into the curious eyes of Wendell Wilkins. Monica stood behind him, shrugging her purse onto her shoulder.

“I, uh…”

“Because I may not be a medical doctor, but if your patient has a marble in their head, you’re going to have a hell of a time removing it.”

“Wendell, leave these young people alone, honestly.” Monica smiled down at Hermione, whose eyes were huge in her face. “I’m sorry for my husband interrupting. He forgets his manners sometimes.”

“That’s… it’s fine. My... My dad was the same way.” Severus watched in frozen horror as Hermione’s eyes filled with tears and her chin wobbled. Monica reached into her pocket and retrieved a handkerchief.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” she said. “Has he been gone long?”

Hermione couldn’t answer, pressing the cloth into her eyes and burying her face into her hands. Severus cleared his throat.

“She’s lost both parents. They, uh…”

“That’s hard,” Wendell said with a sad nod. He scooted behind Severus to take the seat next to him and nodded to Monica who had wrapped her arms around Hermione and was rocking her gently. “They’ll be at it for a while, I’m afraid. Monica tends to adopt wayward souls, especially if they remind her of our daughter.”

Severus tilted his head. “Your daughter?”

“Yes. She was incredible…” His words trickled off and Wendell stared into space blankly for a moment before shaking himself. Severus' eyes narrowed, the wheels in his mind starting to spin. “Anyway, we lost her, too. So I understand a bit how your wife is feeling.”

“She’s not my wife,” Severus denied automatically, his mind still working. He reached for the notebook with the drawing-

“No?” Wendell asked. He chuckled and punched Severus lightly on the arm, snapping him back to reality and away from the notebook. “Son, a word of advice from an old soul. Put a ring on that woman’s finger. Anyone who can love as deeply as she does is worth binding yourself to. And if she’s anything like my Monica, she’ll make your life so much better than you ever thought it could be.”

“I know,” Severus whispered. He glanced down at the paper with the diagram. “But there are… complications.”

“Is she your patient, then?”

Severus snorted helplessly. “Nothing like that. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve studied here and there. Hermione was once a student of mine and has presented me with an interesting case.”

“Well, I don’t know much about brain surgery, but I can only imagine how much pain your guy here is in. And what are these symbols? Runes?” He paused, his face falling blank and slack for a moment before he shook it off with a smile.

Severus tilted his head curiously. “Just shorthand. I think better in pictures than words.”

Wendell chuckled. “If this is your handwriting, then yes, I imagine you do.”

Severus wrinkled his nose, amusement warming his voice. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or charmed.”

“Oh, be both,” Monica said from across the table where she was sliding into a chair. “Wendell is so good at crossing the line between insult and compliment that most people aren’t sure where the line is.”

Hermione sniffled. “Reminds me of a certain someone.”

Severus scowled at her, but Monica laughed. “As I was telling your beautiful wife, Mr… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Snape. Severus Snape.”

“They’re not married, dear,” Wendell added. Monica batted a hand.

“Well, they should be. Anyway, Severus, as I was telling Hermione, I’m sure her parents wouldn’t want her to waste her life mourning for them and they would rather see her happy and settled with a house and a family. But being so close to them- she said they’re here in Perth?” she asked and continued at Severus’ nod, “Right. Being here in Perth and surrounded by their memory is not helping her heal. It’s time to move on.”

“Dear,” Wendell started but Monica carried on.

“And furthermore, I suggested that she- the two of you- should look into moving to Geraldton. That’s where we’re opening our new office, and it’s a wonderful place. Right on the coast, sandy beaches. The works.”

“It’s an awfully far way from Perth,” Severus pointed out.

“Exactly,” Monica nodded. “I’m not saying she needs to abandon her parents’ graves or anything, but some distance can do wonders for the soul. Our own daughter’s grave…”

Severus watched with fascination as both Wendell and Monica paused to stare straight ahead blankly for a few seconds before shaking themselves and Monica continued.

“After it happened, we realized we were hurting ourselves by staying so close. We can never forget our little girl, obviously-” another pause and shake, “but we can keep her memory alive by living our lives to the fullest. It’s what she would have wanted.”

“That’s very noble,” Hermione said quietly. “I don’t know if I can be so strong.”

“I think you can be, dear,” Monica said, patting her wrist. “But I’m not suggesting you pack up tonight or anything. Take some time. Talk with your husband and see what works for both of you.”

“Communication is very important,” Wendell said, helping himself to a naan. “And I find it generally works best if you speak very little and only nod when directed to.”

“Oh Wendell,” Monica laughed. “He’s teasing, but he’s also not wrong. Either way, dear, I think it’s time we leave these two lovebirds to their meal.”

“Right you are,” Wendell said cheerfully. They stood, Wendell brushing some crumbs from his front before clasping Severus’ shoulder. Across the table, Monica talked gently to Hermione, whose eyes were suspiciously wet again. But then Hermione laughed and Monica smiled and patted her cheek.

“Take care, dears. And remember, if you ever find yourselves in Geraldton, look us up. We’ll be moving there in a week or two.”

Monica and Wendell waved as they left, and Severus felt oddly bereft at their absence. Across from him, Hermione looked absolutely drained.

“They are certainly… something,” Severus finally said. Hermione huffed out a hollow laugh.

“They are, aren’t they? So similar to how I remember, but at the same time…” She set her elbows on the table and rested her forehead in her hands. “I’m afraid you might be right. My parents are-”

“Hermione.” Severus reached across to set his hand on her arm. “Your parents are still in there.”

“What?” she whispered. She looked out the front windows of the restaurant to where Wendell and Monica were walking to their car. “How? I thought-”

“I did too, honestly. But no, they’re…” Severus trailed off and his hand made nonsense gestures in the air as he searched for the right word. “Somehow you didn’t remove their memories, or maybe you did but they’re fighting back, or- I don’t know. But they remember you.”

“They- they do?” Hermione grabbed his hand with both of hers and her eyes overflowed with tears. “Please. Please tell me you’re right.”

He squeezed her hand. “I think I am, but-”

“No. No buts. Let me have this.” She lowered her face to press a kiss on the back of his hand, her tears sliding warm and wet down his skin. “Thank you.”

He grimaced. “Don’t thank me yet, Hermione. I still have no idea what to do about the shield, nor what will happen if we successfully remove it.”

“It’s enough for me.” She sniffed, finally sitting back up and releasing his hand to blow her nose in the tissue Monica had given her. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t-” 

As Severus swept the crumbs of naan Wendell had left behind off the notebook, a streak of oil smeared one edge of the capsule surrounding the hippocampus he’d drawn. The oil shimmered, looking eerily similar to a memory in a pensieve, and the graphite line underneath faded away. It looked like part of the shield had disappeared. He stared, his thoughts whisking away as his mind worked.

“Severus? Are you all right?” Hermione asked in the tone of someone repeating the same question with no response. Severus looked up slowly, his lips pulling into the widest grin he’d ever felt on his face.

“I have an idea.”

“Yes?” Hermione asked brightly.

“Exposure.”

She blinked. “Er… No thank you? I mean, I like you and all, but-”

“No, no, I don’t mean that.” He barked out a laugh. “I mean that we should do all we can to talk to your parents and bring their missing memories to the surface. To wear away the capsule through repeated exposure.”

Hermione brightened for a second, but her enthusiasm faded. “So all of those letters? All of those Healers? They were right?”

He grimaced. “Ah… Yes and no. Your parents will not recover on their own, so waiting like the Healers suggested will do nothing, and with that capsule in the way, the countercurse is useless.”

“But being around them will… what, exactly? Snap them out of it?”

“Put simply, maybe?” He tapped the paper where the oil had worn away his lines. “If we can weaken the walls of the capsule, we can hopefully encourage their memories to return. It will take time, but-”

“How long?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Severus said. “It could be a matter of days or it could not work at all. But we won’t know until we try.”

Hermione grinned. “Let’s do it.”

They shared a confident grin before Hermione’s smile faded. 

“Erm, how exactly do we do this?”

Severus rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, to tell the truth. Are they usually in Perth?”

“Yes, but they’re moving to Geraldton next week, apparently.”

“It doesn’t really matter, given that we can Apparate, but…”

“Yes, it’s suspicious,” Hermione agreed. “Though they  _ did _ invite us to move there with them.”

Severus chuckled. “They like us, apparently. I admit to being surprised.”

“I’m not,” she said with a smile. “We’re very likeable.”

They shared a chuckle and Severus lifted his chai in a toast. They were silent for several minutes, both lost in their thoughts as they ate automatically. Hermione stared blankly at the diagram of the shield, occasionally tapping it with her pen. Severus found himself caught by the play of emotions on her face. Helplessness, frustration, irritation- at herself? At the situation?- and hope. Under it all, under everything she was apparently thinking and feeling, she had hope. 

He smiled to see it.

“Well,” she said finally, startling Severus. “I might have a thought.”

“Please,” Severus said, gesturing with his fork. “I’m all ears.”

“You won’t like it, but…” She took a deep breath. “My parents think we’re dating. And they like us being together. So why don’t we… be together?”

Severus blinked. “Hermione, I’m flattered but when I ask you, I’m not going to-”

“No, I don’t mean getting married!” She flushed clear to her roots. “I just mean that- Oh forget it. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s a good idea. I just misunderstood. I’m sorry.” He tapped his lips thoughtfully, not noticing how her eyes locked on his hands. “You’re onto something. Your parents planted the seed of their own redemption, I think. They think we’re dating, so there is no point in dissuading them from that notion. They want us to move to Geraldton, and looking at houses would give us plenty of opportunities to ‘accidentally’ bump into them.”

“Exactly!” She beamed as though he’d given her an O on her essay, and he felt a surge of joy at her radiance.

“Well then,” he said with a cheerful toast of his chai, “let’s go house hunting.”


End file.
